


Tainted Love

by Djinn



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 18:45:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11973408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djinn/pseuds/Djinn
Summary: Betrayed by their partners after the events in STVI, Spock and Chapel finally turn to each other.  But can they shake the past?  How fragile is trust?





	1. Chapter 1

_Her:_

You watch as your lover is led away, the screen showing you a man you don't even recognize.

"Cartwright was your mentor, wasn't he?" someone asks and you nod, numbness filling you. 

He still is your mentor. A goddamned traitor is your fucking mentor.

And sometimes it feels like he's your only friend anymore. Ny is on the _Enterprise_ still and Janice is with Sulu on _Excelsior_. You could comm, but they're usually too busy or tired to talk long. It hurts. You managed to multitask to handle their various personal crises when you were first in ops and overwhelmed and tired. Why are they so hands off with yours? You know Jan really is busy—Sulu depends on her and she's on an important ship. But Ny? She's in a a job she can do in her fucking sleep.

"Commander." The voice isn't one you recognize, but you know the sound behind it. Security. Here for you.

You turn and nod.

"We just need a word." They are being gentle and giving you respect. They must not think you're part of this. Just doing due diligence because you were living with one of the architects of a goddamned conspiracy.

How many people will think you're part of this? You and Cartwright had a long association, although you waited until he wasn't your boss before starting a more physical relationship. That was your idea; he'd been in love with you for years, but you hadn't wanted to be involved with yet another boss.

Well, that wasn't the only reason. You had to let go of the idea of Spock ever wanting you before you could let Cartwright in.

Sad that surrendering to the inevitable has proven a less prudent route than just hanging on to the unrequited love.

You lead the security men into your office in ops and close the door. "I had no idea he was planning any of this. What do I need to do to prove that?"

"Standard measures for now."

You nod. You know the standard measures well. Everyone with special clearances knows them.

"We may also require a meld."

You nod again, not caring about the loss of privacy this will entail. Or caring but not having the luxury of protesting. 

You just want to clear your name. As soon as possible.

Because with the man who was supposed to be a good part of your future gone and your friends emotionally AWOL, your career is all you have left.

 

_Him:_

You sit numbly as the Khitomer conference goes on around you. You have saved the day—you and Jim and Sulu and the others. 

But you have lost so much. Valeris was—she was everything to you. Protégé, friend, lover. You thought you had finally found happiness in a way that no Vulcan could ever condemn.

But she was...a traitor.

The meetings finally wrap up and you see your father conferring with someone from Starfleet security. Your father is...furious. You are stunned to see it so clearly from him, even if you think the security officer has no idea. 

"Father, what is it?" 

Your father moves closer, as if he is trying to shield you. You cannot remember a time he has done this. "It would seem Starfleet security requires you to undergo some...screening."

You nod because you expected this. "I was involved with a member of the conspiracy, Father."

"You prevented war." Your father is clearly frustrated that you can be so sanguine. Is this not what he has taught you? 

You finally murmur, "The needs of the many..."

He nods. Defeated. And steps out of the way. "Will you do it here? When he needs to mingle? To show his faith in the peace he has worked so hard for?"

The security officer looks down. She is only a lieutenant commander. Not prepared to face down a Vulcan with the status of Sarek. 

You take pity on her. "Perhaps when I return to Earth?"

She looks torn. Sarek seems angrier. You just wait. 

You can hear Jim coming up behind you. "Spock, you're needed." Then he seems to read the tension. "What's going on?"

You meet the security officer's eyes. "It is nothing. Just something I must do once we arrive home."

She gives up on taking you in now. You can see it in her eyes. 

"I am not going anywhere, Commander. I have work to do here." You say it to soothe her, because she did not decide to bring you in on her own, and you imagine all of the conspirator's close associates will be brought in for questioning.

Someone might have known something. It is the ultimate embarrassment that you had no idea. Valeris played you.

She loved you; you could feel that from the meld you forced on her—the only meld you two ever shared. She loved you dearly. But she played you, with great effectiveness and, to your dismay, enjoyment.

 

_Her:_

You are coming out from your session. Your head hurts and you feel betrayed all over again. As you leave, they call a friend of yours from ops in—another of Cartwright's favorites.

You hope this is the last time you will see this place.

As you lift your eyes to the exit, you hear a soft, "Christine."

You turn and frown, because while you have learned that nothing they will ask you in this place is a surprise, it's shocking to see Spock in the waiting room. 

In _this_ waiting room because it's only for these sessions. Unless he's here because he needs some new clearance.

It takes you a longer moment to realize he addressed you by your first name.

You make your way to him. "Are you here because of her?"

You don't have to say her name. He nods and you can't read his expression. Which is not to say that it's just the normal Vulcan stone-face because those you've learned to read. You just see too many emotions running across Spock's face—albeit in Vulcan fashion—to pick one.

He motions for you to sit, so you do. "You are here because of Admiral Cartwright? You were his protégé just as Valeris was mine."

"I was his lover. Wasn't Valeris yours?" It is more direct than you would usually be with him, but your filters are shot by this latest four-hour session of unrelenting honesty with Starfleet security.

"She was." His filters are apparently nonexistent too.

"I'm sorry."

"I as well—for you." He frowns. An actual frown. "And for myself."

"You loved her?" You've always wondered. Even if you tried to put Spock into a little mental box labeled "Done" when you gave finally said yes to Cartwright. 

"I did. And you? You cared for the admiral?"

You nod, because it's fair to say you cared for him. You didn't love him, not the way you would have loved the man sitting next to you, but that was a trade you made consciously.

Some loves are stronger because they're imaginary. Because being unrequited, they suck up all the energy you have to give and never send it back in ways that hurt, or leave you unsatisfied. Imaginary lovers never forget to put things back in the chiller or use up the last of the shampoo and forget to tell you. They're...perfect.

You meet his eyes, and say, "I'm not involved in the conspiracy."

"Nor am I. But we were the closest to them. How could we not know?"

"I don't know." It's something you've asked yourself far too many times. "I hope this is my last time here," you whisper.

"Have they hurt you?"

"No. It's just...embarrassing. I imagine for you, too."

"I believe I have more freedom on what I choose to tell them. Most of their methods do not work well on Vulcans."

You laugh softly. "Of course." Reaching over, you grab his hand. "I'm clean of this." You want him to read you, to feel your innocence, but you can tell you are making him uncomfortable so you drop his hand. "I'm sorry. For...everything." 

And then you are up and to the door and you hear him saying your name again.

But then he is being called and you turn to meet his eyes. He's ignoring the person calling him, is watching you go. You hold up your hand halfway, a weak goodbye, and then flee.

When you get home, you check the time and comm Nyota—she transferred right after Khitomer to the _Cirrus_. She's first officer, a big step up—except it's a tiny ship with a limited mission. She may be asleep but she won't be on duty.

She definitely was asleep. "Christine?" She rubs her eyes. "What is it? It's really late."

"I just...I just needed to talk to you." You feel stupid now. Because while you need to talk to her, it's not about anything in particular. You just want to feel part of something. The old gang—you and Ny and Jan. 

She sits up, sighing. "What's wrong?"

"Does something have to be wrong? I mean we used to just talk?"

"Okay. Sure. What do you want to talk about?" She sounds like she's humoring you, but maybe you're giving off crazy-friend signals. Before you can think better of it, you say, "I saw Spock."

And you see her shut down—what the hell? "Wow, that didn't take long. So was it worth waiting for?"

You stare at her for a long time, then say, "I saw him in the—never mind where I saw him, but it was a work thing. I didn't mean I was with him. Why are you being so mean?"

"I'm not being mean." But she's looking away the way she does when she's hurt. "So...you're not with him?"

"No. But he called me by name. He never does that."

"Christine, when will you stop grabbing at straws?"

"When will I...? Ny, are you interested in him?"

"Would you care? You called dibs on him and Jan on the captain and I was left out. That's how it worked, right?" 

You aren't sure what to say, so you sit, looking no doubt very stupid, until she leans in and says, in a voice more like the friend you remember, "I'm sorry—I'm dead on my feet and I don't even know what I'm saying. I have to get some sleep. We have meetings all day tomorrow." She looks desperate to get off the comm line, but you don't think it's because of meetings.

"I'm sorry I bothered you." You reach for the terminal to cut the connection.

"Christine? If you and Spock—that's great, okay? Just...just ignore me. Change is hard for me and this assignment is a big change. Plus, I thought I could get off for the launch, but it turns out I can't. I really wanted to be there for Ji—for the captain, you know? So I guess I'm cranky Nyota. I love you, but I have to go."

"Yeah. No. It's fine. I'll talk to you later." As you cut the line, you realize you haven't told her you're being questioned. You could send a time-delay message. She'd get it tomorrow when she got off shift. You open up a message, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and then close it back up. 

You doubt she'd care much anyway.

 

_Him:_

You sit, waiting, always waiting, and finally you look up at the commander studying the readouts from your latest session and ask, "Are we done?"

If he hurries, you can make it to the launch of the _Enterprise-B_. You can stand with Jim as he says goodbye to his former life. You can somehow make it up to him for being such a...

You exhale slowly, the most basic of the control disciplines: mastery of breath.

For being such a trusting fool.

"I'm sorry, sir, but no. Your readings..."

"Are standard for Vulcans." You go through this every time they test you on these machines and, given the level of access you have, they test you frequently. "Please compare them to my baselines."

"I have, sir. It's inconclusive. We've called in a Vulcan on our staff. I hope you won't mind a meld?"

No, why should you mind that level of violation? You feel anger rising but force it down. "Which Vulcan?" Not your father. Your mind is a mass of chaotic emotion. "Surely Sarek has better things to do?"

"No, not him. That would be a conflict of interest, sir."

Yes, of course it would.

"What if I refuse?"

"Refuse?"

"Yes. What if I refuse? I was instrumental in stopping the conspiracy. Why would I do that if I were part of it?" You stand. Surely they cannot be serious. You have indulged this idiocy long enough.

The commander hits something under his desk. The doors open and guards stand just outside, weapons pointed at you.

You feel a moment of actual panic. "I must accompany Captain Kirk at the launch of the _Enterprise-B_. I will return if you insist, but I must do this."

"You are going nowhere, sir." The commander motions to the guards. "Escort Captain Spock to a holding cell."

You want to yell. The impotent rage you have felt at Valeris is swirling up, threatening to overtake you, the way the fire of the challenge did on Vulcan, the way being sent into the past did on Sarpeidon.

You pull yourself away from that ledge and follow the guards, fighting for the most basic level of emotional mastery.

It does not come. You sit and...fume in the holding cell. Until later that day, when the commander comes to your door, his expression stricken. He drops the force field and hands you a padd. "I'm sorry, sir."

You read the headline three times before it makes sense to you. While you were held here, for a crime you did not commit, your captain—your friend—was dying.

You step out of the cell.

"Sir, I thought you should know but I'm afraid you're not cleared to leave yet."

"We are quite done here, Commander, and if you do not wish me to leave, I suggest you shoot to kill. I cannot guarantee what my actions will be if you use less than deadly force." You turn and meet his eyes. "Or you can take the more prudent route and unlock the doors between the exit and me and allow me to leave." There may be a maelstrom of emotions inside you, but you know your face is giving nothing away. "I have no time for this. He might still be alive. They have not found a body."

It is a slight chance but all you have to hold on to.

The commander finally leans down, hits the intercom, and calls in a guard. "See that Captain Spock is not impeded on his way out."

You take a step toward the door but then turn. "Commander. I hope for your sake that our paths never cross again." You are not given to threats but you want to rip this man apart—you might have made a difference had you been at the launch. Failing that, you might have died in place of Jim. It would have been a fair trade for all he gave you.

Fear flickers across the commander's face.

Good.

 

_Her:_

You're in your office and you hear the kind of murmuring from the bay that means someone important just walked into ops. A moment later, Spock appears at your door.

He nods as if unsure what to do now that he is in your space.

You stand, going to him but stopping short of the spot you know is too close for comfort. "Oh, Spock...what happened to Jim. I'm so sorry."

He closes his eyes, as if you have said exactly what he wanted you to. You have the sense he would like to lean in, put his forehead on your shoulder, and let you comfort him, but of course he doesn't do that.

He was out searching for him. You saw that on the various logs that pass by your desk. He was out without orders—nearly without permission.

You wouldn't want to be the one to try to stop him from looking for his friend.

"I could not find him, Christine."

"Do you want to sit?" You reach for his shoulder and touch it gently, since he seems unsure. "Or walk? We can walk?"

He goes to your window instead and stands staring out at the view. You love your view. It's just an inner courtyard but still pretty. Flowers blooming, birds landing in the trees, a few intrepid squirrels. "Are they finished with you?" he finally asks and you think he means security.

"I guess so. They haven't called me back." That's how they work. No one is ever clear, they just stop calling you in and eventually you quit waiting for a summons. "You?"

"I believe it was inconclusive. I—I refused to cooperate." He shakes his head but still doesn't turn around. "I should have been at the launch. I might have been able to save him."

You move toward him, standing next to him without touching. "You don't know that. You both might have been killed. Or just him despite your help. Or just you."

"All of those options seem preferable to having been detained for no logical reason and thus missing the launch." He sounds angry.

"But it was logical. We're the most likely co-conspirators, Spock. Lovers know things. And we didn't just sleep with them—we lived with them. It makes no intuitive sense to either of us because we know each other—we know we'd never do that—but security doesn't give a shit about our gut reactions."

He closes his eyes and sighs audibly. "What you say is logical, and yet I do not wish to hear logic from you."

"You want comfort?" You touch his face softly and he leans into your fingers. "The old me would have given you that without a moment's thought. But I let her go, when I got good at this job—and when I said yes to Cartwright."

"Is that Christine really gone? Your touch is soothing, so perhaps she is still within you." He looks at you so intently it's as if he's trying to peer inside you. "Did you love him?"

"I wanted to." It's out before you can call it back, before you can say something more fair to your former lover. But it's out and it's true, so you let it stand.

"That is not a yes."

"I know."

"Do you still love me?"

You think this is an unwise road to journey down so you drop your fingers. He is hurting. He has lost so much. And you are some strange sad constant in his life. So you answer with, "Did I ever really love you? It was just a crush."

He turns away but his mouth actually turns up. "You forget. We shared consciousness. Do you think I forgot that in the fires of the refusion?"

You sigh.

"You loved me then. I think you still do." He reaches for your cheek and cups it, his touch more tender than you've ever felt it. "I know you still do."

"You need a friend right now, Spock. Not a lover. But I'm not sure you want me to be your friend. Maybe...maybe ask Len?" God, this is killing you. You're effectively telling him to go away.

"And what if I do not wish to ask Leonard?" He lets go of your cheek. "What if I want you to spend time with me?"

"Then I guess..." You stop talking, ordering yourself to use your brain, not your heart. Ordering yourself to be logical for once when it comes to him, but you say, "Then I guess you should ask me to."

"This weekend. I have no plans. Have you any?"

You're off duty. He doesn't know that, though. There's still time to bow out gracefully. But again your mouth is moving in concert with your heart instead of your head. "I don't."

"Where would you like to go? I have an abundance of transporter credits."

You smile. "I don't know. Where would you like to go?"

"Wherever you will be."

You smile because it's romantic even if it's probably the highest truth he knows right at this moment. He is hurting and you are distracting him. You are a distraction. You have to remember that when he gets over needing one. That you knew this going in.

That this isn't a romance. Not really.

"Buenos Aires," you say, because there are shops there you love to go to and a restaurant that serves the best steak—if he wants to spend time with you, he better get used to you being a carnivore. You don't plan to change for him even if you are ignoring the part of you that is screaming this is a horrible idea.

"I have never been there."

"Then I'll be your guide." It sounds sexual, the way you say it, and you don't mean it to, but you see his lips tick up again. 

"Then we are agreed." He looks supremely self satisfied. But the triumph seems...impersonal. Like he needed to do this, to move on, to reach out. But does it matter that it was you at the other end reaching back?

"Please don't hurt me, Spock." The plea is out before you can call it back. You're normally so good at saying the right thing at the right time, but you've been put through the wringer, and you're sad over Jim and not at your best. "Please, please don't hurt me."

"I do not intend to." His look is concerned. "Do you believe I will?"

"I don't know. I think you won't mean to—that it's not what you're setting out to do, but...things can change."

He looks frustrated. As if by questioning his intent, you've ruined everything.

Maybe you have. Maybe he has no idea what to do with his time without the man he served with and the woman he loved.

Not loved—loves. You don't fall out of love because someone's a traitor. Just as he won't fall in love with you just because you're not.

"I'm sorry," you say, but you're not sure if you're talking to him or to yourself.

He finally nods. "Do you wish to wait, then? Another weekend?"

No, screams your heart. But you nod before that stupid part of you can take over again. "Yes. If we both want to go in a week, then we'll go."

He nods, and you want to read disappointment in his expression, but you think it is just annoyance that you ruined his plans. "Yes, in a week." He studies you for a long moment then turns and walks out of your office.

You hear the hush of ops as people watch him leave. He is famous and handsome and brilliant and people adore him.

And you just turned him down. What if he never comes back?

Then you'll know, right? That you made the correct choice. If he never comes back, it was never meant to be.

What if he goes to someone else. You think Ny would welcome him with open arms.

What will it be like to see him with her?

Damn it. This is not productive.

It is a long time before you can concentrate on work again.

 

_Him:_

You lie in bed, smelling Valeris's scent on your sheets. It is an illogical indulgence to have not washed them—or better yet, thrown them out—but you miss her.

You have not commed Christine or stopped in at ops for another emotionally induced visit. She was wise—the more logical of the two of you and that would shame you if you thought she would hold it over you, but you do not think she will. She may think she has changed, but you still see a caring person.

Although you know she is not lying in her ex-lover's scent. She moved out of Cartwright's house. McCoy told you, when you sought him out. Christine was also wise in that—you needed a friend, not a lover.

A friend who thinks now is probably not the time to pursue her, not that you indicated you would.

"You're both just too damn raw, Spock. Give it some time. I don't want her hurt."

It is ironic to you that both he and Christine think you will hurt her. And yet you are the one who is still reeling emotionally from betrayal. She appears to have moved on.

Although moving out and moving on are two different things. But you suspect the latter is helped by the former. This was your apartment to begin with; Valeris moved in with you. It would be illogical to move simply to flee unpleasant associations even if it might help you turn your life—and emotions—in a more positive direction.

You hear the chime that means someone is at the door. You expect no one and are not dressed, so you ignore it.

If it is Starfleet security, they can break in if they wish to resume questioning.

The chime continues to go off and you feel anger fill you. Is it not apparent you are not here? Or at least, not interested in answering?

Suddenly your intercom buzzes, and Christine's voice fills your room. "I know you're in there. I need to talk to you. I can use my medical override, but I'd rather not."

You tell the door to let her in. Let her come to you if she is so intent on conversation.

A moment later you hear her footsteps on the wooden floor. She is not sure where you are and has never been here; you are not helping her find you.

But it is not a large apartment and she does eventually find you.

"Something wrong with your legs?" She sounds...angry. Then she tosses a padd to you. "You never saw this, understand? I never showed you this."

You decide to see what it is before answering. You open the message she has queued and see—

"I thought you needed closure. I know I did. I'm—I'm sorry, Spock. I know you loved her."

Valeris and Cartwright lie on slabs. There does not appear to be a mark on Cartwright but his head is at an angle that indicates a broken neck. Valeris's throat is cut and there is blood on her right hand and forearm.

"She killed him, then herself."

You nod. It is the logical escape from an inescapable prison.

"I need the padd back. I can't let you keep the picture. I'm sorry." She looks down. "Do you want a moment—in private with it—her?"

You hand it back to her. "No need. Valeris has been dead to me since her role in the conspiracy was made clear. This is just a formality."

"That's a swell attitude, but it's also a lie." She gestures toward the bed. "Have you washed them? When Roger disappeared I kept the sheets on until I couldn't smell him anymore. Then I put them in a box and stored them on a high shelf. Couldn't bring myself to throw them away. She's not dead to you, Spock. She's got you by the throat." She looks down at the padd.

"You do not seem similarly afflicted."

"I loved you. I tried to love him. There's a difference." She turns and heads for the door.

"Christine."

She stops but doesn't turn.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." And then she is gone. 

The image of Valeris's corpse is burned into your brain. You close your eyes and let yourself sigh, a long, human sigh.

Christine is not wrong that you feel this pain—that Valeris is not dead to you. You thought you had found your life mate.

You were wrong.

 

_Her:_

The first thing you think of when you wake is Spock's face, how it looked when you told him his love was dead. You were angry when you went to him. Angry at him for not picking you in the first place. Angry at him for listening to you when you sent him away. Angry at him for still being so clearly in love with Valeris.

So you went to him and hurt him. If Starfleet security finds out you shared restricted information they will finally have something to grill you on.

You aren't this person. You aren't petty and cruel.

But you were. Yesterday you were.

You're quick to snap at people once you get to ops. Your deputy starts coming in for things your team members would normally ask directly. You're being that big a bitch.

At lunchtime, Starfleet releases the information that Cartwright and Valeris are dead. You hear murmuring in the bay so you check the comms to make sure it's relatively quiet and walk out.

The room goes silent.

You walk to the party cabinet, open the locked shelf and drag out three bottles of twenty-five-year-old Laphroaig. "Could someone grab the glasses?"

Your deputy rushes to help you. You pour as he lays out the glasses.

"We've never talked about Cartwright. Not formally. I know many of you never knew him as head of ops, but a lot of us did. So we're going to send him off. The way we'd send off any lost member of our family. Anyone who has a problem with that can leave; I promise there will be no judgment."

No one gets up and drinks are passed down the line and around the room.

You hold up your glass. "It's tradition for the person who knew the deceased best to talk. I think you all know I lived with him. That should mean I knew him best, but I didn't. I never saw this, and I've sat many a night trying to figure out what I missed."

You hear murmurs of "Me, too" and "It wasn't your fault."

"Maybe he was just that good at hiding stuff. And at lying. At the end of the day, he was a goddamned traitor. But he taught me everything I know about working here, about how to run this place—hopefully in a better way than I've been doing this morning. I'm sorry I've made myself unapproachable today."

More murmurs: "Totally understandable" and "It's okay" and even a "We love you."

"I cared for him. He was my mentor. Ultimately he betrayed everything I believed in and almost got friends of mine killed in the very place he died. So, to Cartwright: the enigma, the asshole, the corpse." You sip and the others follow suit. "And to Cartwright: the good man, the honorable man, the one I loved." You drink because even if you weren't in love with him, you did love him.

The others drink too. 

Your deputy goes next. He knew Cartwright nearly as well as you did. His words aren't that different than yours. None of you can figure out how a good man went so wrong.

You pass the bottles around so people can refill as they toast, but less people than normal speak and it seems no one is going to get very drunk. Which is good because you haven't checked the antitox stash in a while, although people here usually keep it ready to go.

You look around the room, waiting to see if anyone else wants to go. Before the silence can get uncomfortable, you pour a new glass and walk it to the front, to the ledge where another glass sits, the whisky nearly gone now. The person who placed it there will remove it without comment once it's empty.

As you set it down, you say: "Admiral Cartwright: you will always be ops even if your path took you places no one should travel. Once ops, always ops."

Your team's voice is strong when they echo back: "Once ops, always ops."

You decide not to tell them this tradition doesn't go back as far as they think. Cartwright started it, but said it was from the early days. He cared so much about his people, about making you all the best team possible. That was the kind of man he was.

But a traitor was also the kind of man he was.

You pour yourself more of the Scotch and gesture for people to enjoy it rather than putting it back. You think they need it.

Your deputy looks concerned, like he might follow you into your office and want you to talk to him about your feelings, so you wave him off. You need some space and he's too good at reading you. He nods and goes back to his office.

You sip, wondering what kind of goodbye Spock will give Valeris.

 

_Him:_

You stand at the spot on Command grounds where you've been told Starfleet intends to put up Jim's memorial. It's too soon for there to be anything constructed, but it's the closest thing you have to a grave for him.

Ripped from you—both of them have been. Jim by that ribbon of energy, Valeris by her own hand—figuratively and literally. There is a bench near the spot and you sit and wonder at your inability to...weather this. It is illogical to be so mired in emotion.

It is no doubt the human side of you.

But you feel immediately sorry for thinking that. Jim was human and he moved on. Tragedy after tragedy and he moved on. Or he found a way to make it right. You are doing neither.

You hear steps coming and steeple your fingers, staring down at them as if you are in a deep Vulcan meditation, but the person doesn't go by you, they sit next to you.

You smell Christine's perfume, then the familiar aroma of Scotch, and it makes you miss Jim all the more.

"I'm sorry, Spock. I think—I think I wanted to hurt you when I showed you that padd yesterday."

"I would not have wanted to hear the news for the first time in an all-hands announcement. Whatever your motives, I am grateful that you told me." You look over at her. "You have been drinking on duty?"

She smiles but you can't tell what emotion prompts the expression. "We have a tradition. A ritual of sorts. For ops officers who die. Once ops, always ops." She suddenly slides closer until she is almost against you, her hand finding yours in a way that your robe will hide the contact. "I'm so angry at him."

And you feel the anger. You feel the hurt and the sadness but not as much grief for him as you expect. It is possible she is angry at Cartwright for what he stood for her and what his actions have done to those memories—and her own career—and not because she loved him.

It is something you do not expect from her. It does you no credit but you have always held her in your mind as someone whose affection was guaranteed. Your...fallback, Jim would have deemed her.

Jim, who often told you that you should have pursued her. That Cartwright was a lucky man. You assumed that meant she had transferred her love to him. But she had not. Jim had not understood.

Just as he had not understood your attraction to Valeris. And he was right. You should have listened to him.

You sigh. Christine holds your hand more tightly.

"You're floundering, Spock, aren't you?"

"I am." It is not in your nature to admit weakness with such ease. But the way she is holding your hand, the...love and concern you feel coming off her for you, make you want to be open. "It is not just about Valeris. It is about Jim, too."

"Of course it is. Why do you think I came to this spot?"

You settle for nodding, unsure what to say.

"Do you think he would have liked it here? It's so quiet and he wasn't."

"He was, actually. He worked hard to be outgoing, to be caring and warm and present. But he needed time alone."

"To recharge?"

"Yes."

"I never realized that. I thought he was one of those extroverts who just sucked strength from a crowd and pitied poor introverts like you and I."

"It was a common misconception. Just as many thought him shallow but he was quite complicated." 

"That I got." She smiles and it's a more genuine expression.

You feel something in you calming. Talking about your friend while this woman you've never wanted is touching you, is sending you support in so many ways—ways she may not even be aware of—is helping you.

"I never knew him as much as I would have liked." She leans back and closes her eyes and you study her.

She has never been a beauty, but she has appeal and you were never unmoved by her. You wanted her when the burning was upon you that first time; you think she has no idea how close you came to taking what you wanted.

She laughs softly and is watching you watching her, and then she shakes her hand and you realize you are gripping her quite tightly. "Big thoughts?"

"I am assessing you." You are relatively certain this is a terrible thing to say to a human female. 

But she only smiles. "What's the criteria? Face? Boobs? Fertility factor? Or is this not an attractiveness thing? Are you assessing my mind or my command presence?" She lets go of your hand and you realize she probably does not want you to be able to read her reactions. But she does not move away and you do not tell her to give you space.

You...enjoy how close she is sitting. "I should have chosen you."

Again the strange laugh. "You would never have chosen me, Spock. Not when a full Vulcan wanted you."

You nod to show her she is right.

"But I'd have been better to you than she was. I wouldn't have betrayed you for some grand conspiracy. So yeah, you should have chosen me, you dimwit." Her tone is light; her expression is not.

You want to pull her to you. Her energy, even if it is somewhat chaotic, calls to you. You want to take her home and undress her and push her onto your bed and let her body and her perfume and the scent of her shampoo erase the last vestiges of Valeris from your bedroom.

She is watching you as if she knows what you are thinking.

"I wish to spend time with you. But I cannot guarantee I will not hurt you."

She takes a deep breath, seems to be considering, but then she smiles, and you can tell by the smile what her answer will be.

"No," she says as she stands. "Come to me when you absolutely will not hurt me."

"Can anyone promise that?"

"Of course they can't. But they can at least start out thinking they won't. Your way: we're half over before we've even started." 

She leans down and kisses you, and you should push her away because this is not done—even if this is a quiet path, someone might come—but the slight taste of whisky and the feel of her lips is soothing. "I love you," she whispers as she pulls away.

Then she is gone and you are left staring at ground that will mean nothing until someone breaks it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Her:_

You look at the invitation that's arrived by courier. It's on a substance that mimics old-fashioned parchment and the handwriting is exquisite. You are cordially invited to attend a poetry reading at the Vulcan embassy in two days. Attire: black tie.

You snap a still of it and send a personal comm to Spock that says, "Is this your idea?"

A response comes quickly. "No."

You laugh, because a human would have elaborated. "Your mother?"

"Undoubtedly."

Again you smile. "Should I go?"

You expect an "Up to you" kind of response but all that shows up on your screen is "Yes."

"Will you be there?"

Again no games. Just: "Yes."

You decide you don't want to play games either. "Then I'll see you there."

"Excellent" appears on your comm screen.

You go to your closet and assess your formal wear. Spock has seen you in none of it. Buying a new dress is a waste of credits, especially when you love the dresses you have.

You go to your favorite boutique anyway. The dress you buy is navy and hugs you in the right places. It's not immodest but it shows enough skin to be interesting. You resist buying new shoes to go with it. There should be a limit to how much trouble you go to simply to impress a man who's already said he's interested.

Then again, he's interested in you as a concept. You'd like to make him interested in you as you. 

You buy the shoes, too.

Work keeps you too busy to obsess much more over it. The night of the reading you call a flitter for the ride to the embassy, and see Amanda grin as you walk in. She and Sarek are holding court near the entrance so you wait your turn, then roll your eyes at her after you give Sarek a more respectful greeting. "I don't remember getting invites when Valeris was in the picture."

She laughs. "My dear, if I can help my son find a better mate than that bi—"

"My wife." Sarek's rebuke is gentle, and you smile.

"That woman, then I will. And you look stunning. Doesn't she look stunning, my husband."

He has the look of a man stuck between wanting to agree with his wife but wary of admiring another woman. You take pity on him and say, "I'm sure he'll agree with whatever you say, Amanda. Happy wife, happy life."

He looks grateful and says, "Indeed." But then he says softly, "If my son fails to appreciate you, he is a fool."

You roll your eyes at him this time. Then you move on, letting others get their time with the two.

Spock comes in a few minutes after you do. He gives his parents a respectful nod but doesn't stop to talk to them, making a beeline for you. "Christine."

"Spock."

He stands so close to you the message he is sending to any other interested parties is that you're with him—not that you think there are any other interested parties at this event. 

"Feeling territorial tonight?"

"Yes."

You smile. "You're just not one to waste words, are you?"

"Should I? Would you prefer some elaborate courtship? I am sure Leonard could give me instructions."

"I told you I wasn't interested in you."

"More accurately, you told me that my attitude toward wooing you needed adjustment."

You laugh, because that's an excellent summation.

He drops his voice even lower. "And you told me you love me. Which is encouraging."

"When haven't I loved you, Spock? It's just what you'd expect, isn't it?"

"What I expected was for you to say yes. You have not said that. I am...surprised at how much work it will apparently take to..."

"To land me? Jesus, Spock." But you're laughing because he looks so peeved and sincere all at once. "So me saying that I love you gave you hope there might be some positive outcome to all this work?"

"You agreeing to come here is also an encouraging sign."

"I might just like poetry."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes."

His eyes are shining. "Did you come solely for that?"

"Maybe." You grin.

He gives you a slow once-over that makes you shiver. "That dress is new, is it not?"

You shrug.

"I doubt you would buy it if you were simply here for poetry."

"Maybe I had nothing else to wear."

"In the position you are in, I would expect attendance at receptions and ceremonies to be a fairly common event. I imagine you have a closet full of dress uniforms and civilian formal wear."

"You imagine correctly." You stop short of asking him what else he might imagine in your wardrobe. "Do you like the dress?"

"I admire how you look in it."

"Wow. You're pulling out all the stops. Did your mom teach you that one?"

He looks very pleased with himself. "No. I often heard Jim phrase it that way."

"Getting tips from the great Kirk. Points for paying attention."

He nods.

You realize that for the first time since the news about the conspiracy broke, you're actually having fun. You think by the look on his face, that he is too. You smile wider and his expression turns tender. For a moment, you're lost, and you think if he asked you to, you'd go anywhere he wanted, let him do anything he wanted. Fortunately, a soft chime sounds and he gestures for you to come with him, into a large room where chairs have been set up.

They're the kind you hate. Flimsy and temporary. They get uncomfortable quickly. But he leads you to the back of the room, where the furniture that's probably normally in this room has been pushed. He chooses a settee for the two of you. It's more comfortable than it appears at first glance and you smile at him. "Good choice."

"The reading may be lengthy. What logic is there in discomfort?"

"Especially when discomfort can actually be counterproductive to polite listening. What with the shifting and all."

"Precisely."

You lean in, aware that there are keen ears on the Vulcans filing in so you need to talk more softly than normal. "You also get to sit closer to me here."

"Indeed. An additional benefit." He puts his hand on the cushion, then moves his robe to cover it, just as it was on the bench. "Moreover, there is no one behind us."

"Is that your subtle way of saying you want to hold hands?"

His lips tick up ever so slightly.

"Well, who am I to deny you?" You reach for his hand, having fun being sneaky as you slide your fingers over his, rubbing gently.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then turns to you. His expression is serious. "I will endeavor not to hurt you."

"You're getting the hang of this." You start to pull your hand away, but he turns his so you are palm to palm, then he tightens his grip until you abandon the idea of getting away from him. "Big, big points, Spock."

He lets a short squeeze be your answer, then turns his attention to the person getting up on the small stage that's been set up at the other end of the room. He looks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, but as Amanda comes in, she glances over and is obviously biting back a smile before taking her seat.

"She approves of you," he murmurs.

"So does your dad."

"I am well aware of that." He gives you a look that says this might not be a point in your favor.

You decide you don't like that, and let your eyebrows go up and start to slide your hand away, but he tightens his grip again until you smile and stop. 

"Message received?" you ask.

"With startling clarity."

 

_Him:_

You are having a difficult time paying attention to the poetry reading. The feel of Christine's hand, so much cooler than yours, rubbing gently against you in a way you do not think she is aware she is doing, is...arousing.

You know it is a sign of how emotionally compromised you are that you are not only allowing Christine to do this but have encouraged her to do it. You cannot imagine Valeris ever holding your hand this way and it pleases you to have this, something she can never taint.

Christine shifts and she eases her hand away from yours. You feel strangely bereft and glance at her. She's facing front, appears rapt, but now you think she is fully aware of the effect she was having on you—and has chosen to take it away.

You appreciate her tactics. It is a basic tenet of negotiations that the harder one works for something, the more one will value it. You are surprised she would use this on you, but perhaps giving a taste and then withholding something desired is also useful in emergency operations.

Or perhaps your father has been mentoring her. She was quick to leap to his defense. But it is hard for you to imagine him conspiring with Christine on this. Not because he would refuse her his assistance, but because you think you would not merit such behavior on his part.

You are simply not that interesting to him. Not since you made it clear you would never follow his blueprint for your life.

You thought he would approve of Valeris. She was everything T'Pring would have been without the duplicity—or so you thought. You close your eyes, trying to will both of them away. Vulcan females have done nothing but hurt you. Perhaps it is why your father chose a human wife after his unpleasant union with Sybok's mother.

It is no doubt why you have turned to Christine.

Although she has not made being with her easy. You are grateful to your mother for engineering this; you would not have thought to invite her to this. 

She looks over at you and smiles in a way that makes you wish you could lead her upstairs to one of the guest rooms and remove the lovely dress she has bought to please you and take her.

And you think she knows it. It is why she is not holding your hand. She has reset the table.

She does not plan to be used. You feel disappointment, but also new respect for her. This is unexpected and you pride yourself on seeing all the possible options in a scenario.

Unless, apparently, a Vulcan female is involved.

There is restrained applause and you realize the current poet has finished. Is there another? You glanced at the program but did not pay the kind of attention you normally would have.

You were distracted. Christine distracted you. 

You reach over and take the program from her lap, checking it. She turns and you pretend not to notice that she is watching you. Finally, you set it back on her lap and meet her eyes.

Her are playful, but they turn sensual the longer you look at her. You think she is enjoying this. But as her pupils dilate, you also think she is not unaffected.

Is it using if you both want it this badly?

When the last poet concludes, you urge her up and lead her to the stairs.

No one else is filing out—was there a question and answer period? You do not remember and you do not care. 

She laughs softly. "You really think now is a good time to show me your etchings?"

"Please. We do not have to— I merely want to—" You stop. You know what you want but a Vulcan in control would not need it this much.

"Come on." She grabs your hand long enough to get you going and then lets go.

You lead her to your favorite of the rooms, check to make sure no one is currently staying in it, and then close the door, pushing her up against it.

She smiles but makes no move. "What now, sailor?"

"You joke." You press against her, your nose against the skin of her neck, learning her scent.

She moans and you know you are smiling.

"Are you joking now?" you ask as you let your lips touch down on her throat, kissing around to her ear, turning her so she has to brace herself against the door as you kiss the back of her neck.

She suddenly struggles and you let go of her. She is angry; you can see it and you can feel it as you touch her hand to try to calm her. 

"Christine, what did I do?" 

"Why don't you just close the drapes? I'm sure they have black-out panels. And hey, turn the lights off, too. Then it'll be so much easier for you to pretend I'm her."

You shake your head in a way you hope means you have no idea what she's saying.

"If you really want someone you don't even have to look at, get a prostitute. Better yet, get a shape-shifting one and you can have your traitor back." She pushes you off her, but you hold the door shut so she can't leave.

"I do not understand."

"No shit, Spock." She slips around you and goes into the bathroom, and you hear her sniff. She is crying?

You replay what you did, how you turned her, what her view was compared to yours and you close your eyes and exhale softly—did she really think you did not want to look at her? 

She has not shut the door of the bathroom so you go in, turning the lights on full, and pull her to you, then turn her, so she is staring in the mirror with you behind her. Then you whisper, "I am sorry. I did not think of the message that might send. Now you can see what I am looking at." 

You kiss the back of her neck again, pulling her more tightly against you, and you lean in so that you can watch her in the mirror, so you can meet her eyes. "I see no one but you."

She stares at you angrily but then it fades, then she gives in and you feel her arousal through her skin as she holds on to your hands, as she pulls them higher, off her stomach and under her breasts.

She will give you anything. You can feel that.

But just moments ago, she thought you wanted a stand-in for Valeris.

And you can't say with a hundred percent certainty that some part of you did not. Even if right now, you just want to please this woman who is leaning back so languidly in your arms.

You turn her, kissing her as you push her out of the bathroom and to the bed, as you urge her to lie back, as you ease her dress up and pull down her underwear and kiss your way up. As you taste her. As you lick and suck and she begins to buck under your mouth.

You pull back just before it is too late, and she moans, and you murmur, "Who am I with, Christine?"

"I don't fucking care. Just finish me off."

You can feel the smile she causes and don't fight it. Although you think that while she might mean the words at this moment, she will come to regret them over time. "Who am I with?" You raise your head and wait for her to do the same, to meet your eyes, to say, "Me."

Then she laughs and says, "For the love of God, Spock. Finish it."

You go back to what you were doing, building her up, but just before she is ready, you stop again.

"Damn you."

You ease away. "I do not wish to do this here. My place or yours. But not here."

"Too embarrassed to have me seen by all your Vulcan friends?" Her smile is uncertain.

"No, I wish to walk naked to the kitchen if I get thirsty. That will be...problematic if we stay here."

She laughs, as you intended her to, and you ease her underwear back up. You lean in, kissing softly, in a way intended to arouse, not ease the tension.

"You're really not going to finish this?"

"I will finish it when we are in one of our apartments."

"Mine is closer."

"Then we will go there." You pull out your personal communicator and order a flitter. Then you go back to touching her, to sucking gently through the silky fabric of her underwear, making her writhe. 

Her pupils are so dilated that there is very little blue showing in her eyes when you pull her to her feet. She is breathing hard and whispers, "Please."

You kiss her and she tries to grind against you, to bring herself to completion and you pull away and tell her, "No. You must wait."

You and Valeris never played games like this. But it feels right with Christine. You want to make her wait, and you will touch her hand during the flitter ride so you can feel what she is feeling, and when you get to her apartment, you will finish it. You want to lean her against the wall of her apartment near her front door and prop her leg over your shoulder, and suck her until she cries out. You want her to be heard from the hallway.

You want evidence that you move her, that she loves and wants you. And you know she will give it to you because she does love and want you. She is practically screaming it each time your skin touches hers.

She tries to grind against you a second time, and you turn her, biting down gently on her neck, sucking as you do it, knowing there will be a mark come morning.

Liking that you will have marked her.

You never marked Valeris.

"You must wait, Christine."

She moans but she doesn't try to take care of herself again.

 

_Her:_

You somehow follow Spock down the stairs after he runs his hand down your dress to smooth it and fixes a stray tendril of your hair in a sweet way that only makes you want him more.

"I can't say goodbye to your parents in this state."

"Wave when we get to the door."

"That's so rude."

"I believe they will understand."

You laugh. "Did they do that to you? Wave before they went into their room, like you shouldn't touch your mom with those telepathic hands when they were in that state?"

"Christine, please, I do not want to speak of my parents having sex."

"Oh, fine." The two of you are almost to the door and you turn, spot Amanda watching you leave, and give her a smile and a wave.

She lifts her hand and her smile is knowing.

"Oh, God, that's so embarrassing. Your mother isn't fooled."

"I did not expect her to be." He urges you into a flitter you didn't even know he'd called.

"Wow, can you multitask or what?" As he slides in next to you, you give the flitter your address, then once you're safely out of range of the embassy, you lean against him, put your lips on his ear, and whisper, "Please?" You slowly let your legs open.

"Wait," he says as he eases away. Then he turns and there is such a lightness in his eyes that you just want to kiss him.

You resist the urge but you murmur, "This is so fun."

"It is," he says, surprising you—not that he's having fun, but that he's admitting it so easily.

"Did you and she do things like this?" This has to be asked. Now, not later, when you're too far into it and thinking it's for you alone but maybe being wrong about that.

"Never. Did you know her?"

"Not well. She stopped into ops a few times to talk to Cartwright but he wasn't in a rush to introduce us. I thought he was sparing me because he knew what you meant to me. Now, I'm not sure—maybe they were already conspiring?"

"Perhaps they were. I can say with assurance that she would not have enjoyed this." He cocks his head as if assessing the statement. "Actually, I think it is more that I would not have enjoyed doing this with her. I would have felt..."

"Vulnerable?"

He nods. "And judged. Will you judge me?"

"I will if you make me wait much longer." You laugh at his expression. "Please, Spock. The flitter computer won't tell." It's programmed to be very tolerant, but maybe that's not the thing to say at this moment. Spock doesn't need to be thinking about you and other men.

Although he seems to be. "Did you and Cartwright do this sort of thing?"

"He didn't have your magic telepathy to let him know where I was."

He looks pleased to hear that. "But...games?"

"I guess. But..." You sigh. "Spock, I settled for him, you know? I loved him dearly as a friend and eventually, when it was clear you and Valeris were in for the long haul, I let him in the way he wanted. But..." You reach for his hand and meet his eyes. "Can you feel the anticipation?"

He nods.

"Can you feel the love?"

He nods again.

"Let's just say I'm glad he wasn't telepathic because he wouldn't have felt this level of either."

He shocks you when he cups your cheek, his touch so gentle. "I am sorry. And I am also...glad."

You meet his eyes and he frowns, and you know he can feel how your thoughts have turned your mood darker, so you just ask: "Are you settling for me? The way I did with him? Was she your one true love, Spock?"

"No, she was my misguided attempt to be more Vulcan than I am, to find something that T'Pring took from me. I thought Valeris respected me. As a Vulcan. As a logical being. As myself."

"She probably did."

"One does not betray a person one respects."

You think about that. Because it would mean Roger didn't respect you. Then again, that fact was already confirmed when he created something that looked nothing like you to be his little mechanical geisha. "Okay, maybe."

"I am not settling." He pulls you closer and eases his hand up your dress and under your panties. "You were in a better state before our discussion. Perhaps talking, at this moment, is overrated?"

You laugh and make noises of general agreement.

"You are sure the flitter protocols are tolerant of this kind of behavior?"

"Yes. Well, unless some entrepreneurial type is using flitter vids to blackmail people."

"I think we are safe. I will be careful not to show anything." And then he's touching you again, and you're moaning, and just before you get there—he stops again.

"Spock. God. Damn. It." You grind against his hand, but he pulls it away, and waits until you are watching before he puts his finger in his mouth and sucks on it.

You groan.

He almost smiles. "I think you are now in a much better frame of mind."

 

_Him:_

You do not think a flitter ride has ever taken longer. Christine is pressed against you, her fingers tapping on the top of your hand, and her need pulses at you with each moment of contact.

You lean into her, your lips grazing her ear for a moment, inhaling deeply, the combination of her perfume and natural scent intoxicating. You don't think a woman has ever been so...yours before. Ironic, for all that Vulcan mating customs tend toward possession.

The flitter finally pulls over and she slips out. You follow, enjoying the way her dress moves as she walks, what parts of her it accentuates. She leads you into her building and to the elevator. She tries to kiss you but you murmur, "Wait," as you nip her earlobe.

She moans and your body reacts to the sound; you hope that no one else needs the elevator. A robe is more forgiving than pants, but it won't hide everything.

She takes your hand, need pulsing into your skin as she pulls you down the corridor to a corner unit, palms open the door, and lets you push her against the wall once you're inside. You have her dress off in mere moments, her undergarments follow and you stop and admire what is now yours.

You kiss her, lips moving down, exploring her body, feeling her trying to pull you somewhere—the bedroom, no doubt—but you say, "No, here." And then you kneel and ease her leg over your shoulder, finding her with your tongue, touching as you go, inside her, one finger, then two.

She is past the point of stopping and you take her as far as you can and then enjoy the feeling of her pleasure. 

She is not quiet. This pleases you, too.

But then, as she rests against you, you feel something else, new emotions flooding in.

Regret. Shame.

You ease her off you and stand, pulling her to you so you can study her. "What is it?"

"It's okay. That was really good." She does not meet your eyes.

"You regret this?"

"No one could regret that, Spock. It was...it was amazing." She still will not meet your eyes.

"Then what? Is it that I am not Admiral Cartwright?" You are hurt now and you let go of her. What is there to be ashamed of?

"Spock, for God's sake. I'm naked. I'm naked and I'm letting you do this to me and, okay it's the best orgasm I've ever had, but it's our first goddamned date. What am I doing? What are you going to think of me?"

You move back to her. "We have known each other a long time."

"I know."

"I wanted to make love to you during the Pon Farr." Technically you would have been incapable of making love, but you phrase it the way you think she needs to hear it.

"So we're counting that as a first date? You throwing soup and then trying to seduce me?" She glares at you. "Why do you think I said we were bound for Vulcan? You think I didn't know what you wanted from me that day in your quarters?"

You smile, a small one but a real one, and you can see she is surprised.

"Spock, this isn't the...?" She is reaching for something in her closet and you suppose it is her med bag, so before she can pull out a scanner, you say, "It is not the Pon Farr, Christine."

"Okay." She is trying to cover up, so you pull your robe off and put it on her.

"Great, now you're naked on our first date."

"I am not naked; I have on undergarments." You smooth her hair back where the robe mussed it. "We also shared consciousness."

"Still not a date. And don't even think of suggesting that the kiss forced on us by the Platonians counts as anything. You weren't even trying." 

You pull her to you and kiss her gently. "I think you know me well enough to understand I am not given to promiscuity." You decide to take her hair down as you talk. "I know you well enough to say the same thing. You did stop me that day in my quarters. You could have had me, but you stopped it."

"I should have stopped this."

"Why? You have felt isolated since Khitomer, have you not?" You toss the clips that have held her hair up into a bowl by the door and fluff her hair. It falls in waves just past her shoulders. "I have, too. But now I do not—because of you—and I would like more of this closeness."

"Of course you would. You haven't come yet."

"Yes, that is most disagreeable." You kiss her again and feel the insecurity rising off her. "I cannot tell you that I love you, Christine. Not because I cannot love, but because I have never let myself know you well enough to determine if the regard I do feel would turn into that."

"You loved Valeris."

"I did. I may always to some extent. Just as you do Roger. Did that die with him?"

"No."

"If we meld, I can show you that I want to be here because I want to be with you. I can show you that this is not a case of anyone will do and I will pretend she is Valeris." You run your fingers along the meld point. "I have not melded with anyone since the one I forced on Valeris."

"But you were used to melding with her, right?"

"No, she told me she did not like to meld. Some Vulcans do not. It is a personal preference whether it will be used beyond the times prescribed by ritual."

"So you guys never...?"

"Only the one time. I understood immediately when I was in her mind. What she could hide from a touch telepath, she could not hide from a full meld. I was often dissatisfied because she continually found reasons to postpone our bonding. That should have been a warning sign to me, I suppose, but she...played me." You feel Christine relaxing as you speak. You think that not hiding what you feel about Valeris is actually soothing to her. She fears what you won't say far more than what you will.

You realize you are shivering. "May we get in your bed? I am cold."

She grins. "That'll teach you to be gallant. Don't give your robe up."

"I will not. In the future." You like the way she smiles, and the way her mood lifts at your words. She wants you to have a future with her.

You want that, too. Not just for tonight. But more nights. And days.

She pulls you to the bedroom and slips out of your robe then says, "Hey," as you move to get into her bed. Laughing, she pulls off your undergarments. "No undies for me, none for you."

You pull her down with you onto the bed, rolling so she is beneath you. "Whether or not you want to try the meld, know this. Since I walked into the embassy and saw you, I have been fully focused on you. I have not once thought about how I could have saved Jim. My thoughts of Valeris have been comparisons to how you make me feel—to what you let me do."

You feel embarrassment rising in her and roll to your side, pulling her with you. "No. You are feeling uncomfortable and you should not. I enjoy how free you are—the way I feel when you let me be free. With her, nothing was real, even if I did not know it at the time."

"And she controlled you." She snuggles into you. "So did you _need_ to control me the way you just did."

"Perhaps this time I did. Were I to repeat it, it would be because I—and you—enjoyed it immensely."

"I won't lie about that."

"You do not tend to lie at all, Christine. Do you?"

She seems to think about that. "No, I guess I don't. I mean there are things I can't talk about."

"That is different. You have been uncomfortably blunt at times. But I appreciate that. I know where you stand. I do not have to wonder what I'm missing."

She reaches down, her hand slipping along your skin until she grasps and begins to stroke you. "You're not missing anything. Other than an orgasm."

"Other than that." You kiss her as she controls you. Then you let her go as she kisses her way down, as she takes you in her mouth— You are not quiet. It startles you how much you let go. 

She comes up laughing. "Wow, are you always so vocal?"

You cannot form words so you just shake your head.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

You nod.

"Once you've recovered, can we do the meld?"

You nod and pull her to you, stroking her hair. "Fun," you manage to get out.

"This is fun? I'm fun?" She laughs as you kiss her and says against your mouth, "You're fun?"

You manage to grunt out an "Mmm hmmm" then you relax into her, enjoying the way she runs her fingers so lightly over your skin, causing an almost shivering reaction. Enjoying the way her eyes go soft as she smiles at you.

You wish you could tell her you love her, but you know she won't want you to say it unless it's true.

 

_Her:_

You are almost asleep, curled against Spock, when he shifts and says, "You are relaxed. And, I think, feeling more positive about this."

You look up, smiling as he kisses you. "I'm not feeling much of anything—you caught me just in time."

"I could feel you drifting. It was pleasant." He strokes back your hair. "Are you ready?"

You nod and pull him down, kissing him gently. "Thank you for this."

"It is no hardship."

"I should just have faith."

"Why? We both did with our previous partners and look where it got us."

"True." You pull him down again. "Do you think, before we do the meld that maybe, we could do this?" You pull him onto you, wrapping your legs around him, feeling parts of him coming alive as you rub against him. "Please?" you ask, as if he is going to say no, when his eyes are closed and he is breathing in the stuttering way you are coming to associate with pleasure.

"If. You. Insist." He pushes into you and moves your legs higher, thrusting gently, then less so.

"Harder." You could never get Cartwright to just let go. Maybe he was afraid that if he did, secrets would follow. "Spock, harder."

He nods, holding on tightly to your arms, and you can see he is gauging how hard to go by your reaction.

"Let go."

He goes harder but doesn't lose himself in it as he moves in a way you love, and he reaches between you and—

God. Yes. You're loud as you come and he kisses you to cut off the sound. He slows but you whisper, "Let go. I'll tell you if it's too much. Even if you get lost and can't tell, I'll tell you."

He meets your eyes, as if he's unsure whether this is all right. Finally, he nods and begins to go harder and faster and when it gets too much you whisper, "Less" and he slows until you say, "There, yes, go."

He comes much more quietly this time, but you think he's deliberately holding it in, as if he's afraid of how loud he might be as he buries his head in your neck, moaning into your skin.

He rolls off sooner than you expect but pulls you to him, his fingers on the meld points. "I want you to feel what I do. How...satisfying that was."

The feeling of him hovering at your mind is strange, and he seems unsure—you get a sense of Valeris, but not as a rival, just the remnant of what he did to her—his guilt. 

You reach up and push his fingers more firmly into your skin. "I trust you," you whisper, and that seems to be what he needs. 

He presses on and says, "This. Feel this."

Around you is...contentment and release and a deep sense of relief. That you let him go, that he didn't go too far. You sense that he wanted to hurt Valeris—to take her and make her pay and you understand that.

But now, he's letting it go. The feeling of her is fading.

"I am with _you_ , Christine." He seems to be sucking up what you're feeling, too, and satisfaction covers his other feelings. "I want to make you...happy."

And you sense he does. Even if he's not entirely sure what happy looks like after so much betrayal.

You relax into him. "You do make me happy. Even if you did get me to sleep with you on the first date." You try to laugh into the meld and hear him exhale sharply, and amusement colors everything. "I like this, Spock. I like not feeling..." You are unsure how to express what you've been feeling. 

But you don't need to because he echoes the sentiment back via the meld and sends you relief and contentment and comfort. "I am as tired of being their victim as you are. We will move on. Together." He lets go of the meld points but the resonance remains. 

"It will fade gradually. I could end it more abruptly but I thought it might be pleasurable for you to know what doing this"—he slides his hand down your belly, then lower until he finds the spot he's discovered you like the best—"does to me."

Warring sensations: pleasure building in your body from his hands but also his own pleasure, feeling you move against him, watching your chest redden as the tension grows. You give up and let go and—

"Holy shit." You realize you almost passed out. "You really never did this with her? Man, was she dumb."

"Not if she was trying to hide something. Do you think you could hide how you feel if you were involved in something that I would not like?"

"I guess not. It's so...open."

"Yes. Exactly. And she could not be. Nor, I presume, could Cartwright."

You nod. "But neither he nor I were psi talented so it wasn't as apparent." You nuzzle into him. "That makes you a dummy, huh?" You kiss him to take any sting from the words. "You can be my dummy." You run your finger gently over his ear tip and see his eyes close. "If you want?"

"I would like that."

"Only minus the dummy part?"

His lips almost tick up. "Yes." The he yawns and you wonder how long it's been since he really slept.

"I knew that." You pull the covers up over you. "Do you have to get up early tomorrow?"

"No."

"We could sleep in and order breakfast. This place is like a hotel with room service and they serve breakfast all day. Just the thing for a busy ops girl." You're babbling because suddenly you're nervous.

"Most convenient." He pulls you to him and you struggle for a second to find a comfortable way to lie, then he moves and you shift, then move again, and you find it, that indescribable sense of fitting together.

You fit: this is nice.

 

_Him:_

You wake before Christine does and take in the bedroom you barely paid attention to last night. It is not overly frilly—in fact you think it may be similar to visiting officer's quarters. Furnished in a neutral way.

She lived with Cartwright—almost certainly had to move out when he was arrested and his assets seized. You see some cartons in the corner, two deep and three high. Her belongings? The ones she didn't unpack?

There are a few photos in frames on the dresser. Bottles of perfume on a tray. Art on the walls but again, it looks like what a hotel might put in. Attractive but unaffecting.

With the hours she works, this kind of place no doubt makes sense. But you wonder if she misses the admiral's house. Jim used to speak of it with envy. Apparently, it had a wonderful view.

You were never invited to it. An oversight or just cell members maintaining operational distance?

She moves, cuddling into you and you lean in and kiss her. 

She wakes, sighing and then kissing you back. As you pull away, she asks, "What time is it?"

You check the chrono. "Seven."

"Mmmm, too early." She curls in against you, but but then pulls back and seems to be studying your face. "You're not going to fall back to sleep, are you?"

"It is unlikely."

"What if I tire you out?" Her eyes are half closing as she says it, so you think it is an empty promise.

"If I may use your terminal, I will work while you sleep."

She studies you and there is something hurt in her eyes. "No, I'll get up." But her eyes are half lidded.

"You are tired. Sleep. It is what you wanted."

"And you'll just work?" She sits up. "Will you still be here when I wake up again?"

You feel a surge of frustration—you realize your relationship is new, but have you given her a reason to think you would simply leave? "Why would I not be?"

"Well, you kind of look like you're ready to go."

"I am not ready to go, but I am ready to get up. I do not need as much sleep."

She narrows her eyes, her expression turning less pleasant. "And I guess neither did Valeris. Match made in heaven but for the whole traitor part." She slides away from you and gets out of bed, heading into the bathroom and closing the door—but not slamming it, which you take as a good sign.

"Christine, I am quite content to let you sleep more."

She doesn't answer you from the bathroom, but when she comes out, she says, "Spock, I wanted to sleep late with you, not alone. I can sleep alone without you." She frowns. "That made no sense." She goes out to the kitchen. "Do you drink coffee?"

"No." 

"Of course not." There is the kind of soft slamming of utensils that you have learned with your mother means she is aggravated with your father for something he has done. 

Only—what have you done? You woke up. You would have liked to make love to her again, but you clearly have missed your chance to start the day that way.

She comes in and drops a padd in your lap. "Menu's on there. I have no idea what you eat for breakfast." Her eyes are steely as she asks, "You do eat breakfast, right?"

"I do."

"Well, yay." Then she's gone.

You sigh, an audible sigh. You've heard your father make the same sound. Getting up, you stare at your robe and consider if you should put it on. Christine must have had a robe hanging in the bathroom, because she is clothed now. You decide to be bold and walk naked to the kitchen, bringing the padd with you and setting it down near her. 

She's standing with her back to you, staring at the mug of coffee that is on the counter. 

You come up behind her, easing her robe open and pulling her against you. You enjoy how cool she feels to you, how soft her skin is against your hands. "I have done something wrong and I am sorry."

"No, you're just being you and I'm being stupid." She leans into you and you kiss her hair. "I just had this stupid idea about what this morning would be like."

"And this is not it?" You let your hand slip down and down and...there.

"Ohhhh. Spock. That's not fair."

"So you do not like this?" You know she does. You remember from last night and can feel it now as you touch her. "I should stop, then?"

"I guess you can keep going. Since you like to do it." She is leaning harder against you and her breathing is faster.

You could tease her the way you did last night, but you think something less controlling is called for, so you send her over as soon as you she is ready, and she clutches at you, calling your name but not as loudly as last night.

You wait for her breathing to level out before asking, "Have I disappointed you, Christine?"

"No. I just..." She turns and kisses you. "I wanted romance. Maybe that's not what this is."

"Or perhaps romance with a Vulcan is not what it would be with a human."

"Sure. Be logical." She is glaring, but it's not a very severe look, and she smiles as you move her coffee aside and ease her onto the counter.

"I would like to do this." You slip into her and moan, closing your eyes as you murmur. "This is good, Christine. You feel so good to me. To be inside you is a superb feeling."

Her answering moan is lovely. She has so many vocalizations during sex. You think you will enjoy inventorying them.

You take your time, making sure she climaxes again before you let go, burying your face in her hair, moaning loudly. As you relax into her, you can feel her mood lightening, and she plays with your hair in a way that is both sensual and sweet.

You move your mouth to her ear and whisper, "I cannot be what I am not, Christine. I will never be effusive. Nor, unfortunately, a late sleeper. In fact, this was late for me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"But I am intensely interested in you. You...this. Us. It is good. It makes me feel good. And I can tell that it makes you feel good as well."

"It does." She pulls back and strokes your face. "Ignore me when I'm pissy."

"I cannot. I do not want you to think I am indifferent when I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me. I hurt me. I wanted...too much."

"You want to feel safe—right now, you are off balance." And unsure, but you decide not to add that since it might sound overly critical. "We will find a rhythm. This is our first day as a couple."

You feel a spark of joy in her. Such a simple phrase—such easy truth—to make her so happy. You decide to try to do better. "You are mine."

Some women would not like it—there are days you imagine she will not like it. But she is feeling tentative about you right now, and you feel happiness rising in her at your words.

She kisses you for a long time, sweet, glancing kisses, her lips so soft against yours. Her smile is a gentle one when she finally pulls away. "Are you hungry?"

"I am. We did not eat last night."

"We didn't, did we? No wonder you woke up. Wow, I'm a shitty girlfriend and a shitty hostess."

"You are neither." And you find it greatly encouraging that she just referred to herself as your girlfriend. 

"What do you want to eat?"

"Normally I eat fruit and oatmeal, but I am quite hungry this morning." You pull her back for another kiss—it is not just food you are hungry for. 

She grabs the padd and smiling says, "May I take your order, sir?"

"Scrambled eggs. Vegetarian bacon." 

She makes a surprised face.

"It is quite delicious."

"If you say so." 

"Fruit of some kind. Berries, perhaps?" You have a craving for strawberries. Or more accurately you just want to feed them to her and have her feed them to you. You've never done that with a lover and you suddenly want to. "Strawberries—do you like strawberries?"

She laughs. "I love strawberries." She leans in as you let your lips rise slightly and says, "What are you thinking about? That expression is a keeper."

"How we will eat the strawberries." You rub your finger along her lips and she captures it in her teeth, biting down gently before letting go.

"Alrighty, then. Sexy strawberries it is." She studies the padd and inputs some dishes for herself. "You want toast or potatoes? The hash browns are to die for."

"I have no wish to die. How will I enjoy you if I am deceased?"

"I'll resuscitate you. I'm a doctor, remember?" She adjusts the order. "You can share mine. Just to be safe. And we need rye toast. I love that—commit it to memory because I'm not going to be happy seeing wheat or white."

"Understood." 

"I will accept an English muffin, though. No bagels."

You let an eyebrow rise. "I thought all humans ate those."

"Not this one." She sends in the order, then reaches down, playing, making you close your eyes. "They'll be up here in about ten minutes. How do you feel about quickies?"

"I am feeling quite positive about them at this moment."

She laughs and wraps her legs around you, pulling you in. "I'm sorry I was so unpleasant."

"You were not. This is new. We will...learn how to be with each other. And as we are now making love, I am not opposed to the process if it ends in this way each time."

"That was sort of a romantic statement."

"I will try my best." You pull her toward you, tired—for now—of talking. You take her quick and hard and she likes it, urging you, responding to your thrusting and your fingers.

You come first but she's right behind you, moaning as you collapse against her, still fingering, enjoying the cries she is making.

"This may be better than sleeping in." She laughs softly as she hugs you tightly.

"And there is breakfast either way."

"Mmm, so true." She holds you until her chime goes off and as she slides off the counter and ties her robe back in place, you retreat into the bedroom to slip on your robe.

You should leave one more appropriate to the occasion here. You do not think she will mind. And you could keep other things here so you do not have to go back to your apartment each time.

You ask her if she would mind if you did that. Does she have room in her closet?

Her smile is a beautiful thing and she touches your hand, squeezing gently for a moment. Curious that such a pragmatic request would make her so happy.

Curious but pleasant.


	3. Chapter 3

_Her:_

You're having dinner at the Vulcan embassy. You and Spock have been together a few weeks now but you don't think he would have dragged you home to the parents quite so soon if he wasn't trying to make a point to you that you don't need to be so damned insecure.

And you're trying. You really are. You wonder if you would have had the same kind of adjustment issues if the two of you had gotten together during the first voyage or even after V'ger. You think it's not the basic issues of a new relationship that are bothering you; it's one, and her name is Valeris and she's a goddamned ghost.

Even if he seems to be leaving her behind. You're having a lot more trouble with that.

But you saw them together in the halls. You think you knew they were a couple before they did. Ny has told you how...compatible they seemed—at least before Spock had to rip critical information out of the love of his life's mind. 

They were compatible at a molecular level. Spock wouldn't have felt so betrayed by someone he hadn't truly loved. Will he love you that way someday? Or did he pick you because he will never have to worry about loving you so much you can hurt him? 

These are negative thoughts and when the two of you are making love or just spending time together, you can forget them. You're usually too busy at work to obsess over what is and isn't true about your relationship, but the stupid doubts roil around in your head when you're alone.

If Ny were just here, on Earth, and not out on a ship where she is finally doing something different. But being first officer—even on a small ship—is frazzling, and she never seems to want to talk in real time anymore. She sends updates all the time and asks how things are going, but it's not the same as discussing in a real one-to-one conversation.

And Jan is even busier. And involved with Sulu. The double whammy of absent-friend syndrome: geographical distance and a new lover.

Why do you only have two close friends? You've served with so many people who you could sit and drink all night with, but did any of you ever share things that mattered? Maybe the only way to stay sane in ops was to shut down? To keep things superficial?

And then once you and Cartwright became involved, your new friends were couples—friends of his, who not surprisingly are nowhere to be found now that he's gone and you're just the left-behind ex-lover.

Maybe part of your problem with Spock isn't with him at all—but with yourself. Who you've become.

But then you never had that many friends in college, either. You had Roger, and that was enough. A shortsighted policy, then and now.

But at least here, sitting in the dining room of Sarek and Amanda's private chambers at the embassy, you feel like you're part of something that's more than just you and a man. Sarek gently teases and Amanda seems out-and-out thrilled that you're with her son.

Spock seems very at ease. Proud of you, even. Content.

All good things. And not consolation prizes. You're happy, or you are when you get out of your own way. 

Amanda notices your glass is nearly empty and pours you more wine. "I've been invited to a winery opening out in Napa, Christine. Sarek, of course, can't be bothered. Please say you'll go with me? It's next Saturday."

Spock is leaving on a diplomatic mission so you know you'll be free, barring any last minute emergencies. 

"I'd love to."

"Excellent. My social secretary will make the arrangements for us." She winks at Spock. "Couldn't have done this with Valeris."

Sarek doesn't even look up from his soup as he says, "My wife..."

You grin at her. "You can badmouth her. It makes me feel better."

"You are better than that, Christine." Sarek is looking at you as if he really believes that to be true. "Valeris is dead. Let us not resurrect her."

Spock shoots his father a grateful look and you mutter, "Fine," but as you glance at Amanda, she mouths, "Later."

You look down, trying to hide the laughter. You think it's possible you aren't the only one who needs a female friend to spill your guts to.

Once dinner is over, Spock follows Sarek into his study, keen on picking his mind on the people he will be dealing with during his upcoming negotiations. Amanda waits until the door is shut and then motions for you to follow her. You sit at the counter of the small kitchenette, and watch as she mixes cocktails. Something with cognac—and is that absinthe?

"That looks strong."

"Only if you can't handle your liquor." She grins. "Can you?"

"I'm in ops. It's practically a job requirement."

"Valeris used to watch with such...disapproval when I drank. But nothing I did could please that one." She slides the glass to you and you drink, tasting the brandy and a hint of the absinthe and you're not sure what else—but it's good. "Let me introduce you to the Sazerac."

"Yum." You take another sip, then say softly, "I worry sometimes. That she was Spock's one true love. That I'm..." You sigh. Should you be telling her this?

"I imagine you do. He was smitten but she intended for him to be."

"You think she didn't love him?"

"Oh, no. She did. She worshipped the ground he walked on—not enough to get his advice before joining a conspiracy, but still, her devotion to him was clear." She comes around to join you. "But part of her appeal, I'm sure, was that she was a full Vulcan. He's been trying to be accepted on Vulcan his whole life."

"Any human looking at him would assume he is Vulcan." You laugh at her look. "Any human who's not also his mother."

"Spock paid the price for being my son. When he was really young, he used to cry, which of course made it worse for him. I remember the day he stopped showing his pain. I felt like I'd lost my baby and he was only five." She sips her drink, her look thoughtful. "T'Pring was one of the worst. She made him feel small right up to the day they were betrothed. It does my heart good to think of her being Stonn's property."

"You mean she's a slave?"

"No. Because Stonn is as addled with her as he was when he betrayed Spock. But technically her only standing is through him—because he allows it."

"Don't you think that's barbaric?"

"Yes." She starts to laugh. "I made Sarek tweak the words of the bonding ceremony. To say T'Pau was unhappy with me is to underestimate how ticked off one old Vulcan woman can get. Not that she showed it, of course."

"I guess you were the trailblazer for the rest of us." You think that sounds presumptuous of you, that you'll bonded to Spock any time soon. "Not that he and I are..."

She waves off your protest. "If you're here, with him, then he's serious about you. He would never bring home a casual acquaintance."

"Does he have those? I mean...of the romantic variety?"

"Oh, heavens, no."

Or if he does, he's not telling his mother. Although you get the feeling she knows an awful lot about his life. 

"I'll be honest, Christine. I was worried sick about him. First Valeris's betrayal, then Jim dying. I've never seen him so lost. Well, other than when his brother was exiled. But I've noticed how happy he's been since the poetry reading last month and I know you're the reason."

Or sex with you is. They may be two different things.

God, when will you stop self-sabotaging? Spock clearly cares about you; he's putting up with you and your emotional see-sawing with way more grace than you are.

The two of you drink in silence for a moment, and you enjoy the ease, the lovely cocktail she's made for you, the support you feel coming from her.

"The dedication of the memorial for Jim is next week, isn't it?" she asks.

You nod. They broke ground in record time. The memorial grounds are beautiful and the statue even more so. Spock has asked you to go with him—you would have gone anyway, but you understand how much weight he's investing your relationship with by asking you to be by his side for this. "I'm going with him."

"Good. He'll need you." She studies you. "Christine, I may get an unhealthy amount of joy out of badmouthing Valeris, but that's because she and I never got on, not because I think she isn't truly gone from this relationship. I want you to understand that. Spock doesn't move on easily, so if he's with you and happy, then he's let her go."

"I know. I tell myself that." You finish your drink. "This really is delicious, by the way."

"Tastes like more?"

"Definitely tastes like more."

"More it is." She finishes her drink and gets up to make new ones. "So much fun to finally have someone here around who appreciates my mixology skills."

 

_Him:_

You sit on the left side of the front row at the memorial, the statue of Jim in profile to you. It is how you viewed him for so many years from the science station; there should be a comforting familiarity but all you can feel is loss and anger. He should not be dead. If Starfleet had waited until the ship was truly ready to be launched, they would not have run into the singularity, and your friend would be alive and not memorialized in a statue that looks out instead of up.

You glance at Christine and she smiles gently. She turns, scanning the crowds, and you know she is hoping Nyota or Rand will show up. You do not think she has anyone to talk to at ops—she holds herself apart more than you think she realizes.

"Are Sulu and Rand coming?" she murmurs so softly a human would not have heard her. 

You shake your head, then mouth, "Nor Nyota."

McCoy takes the seat to your left, rubbing his forehead even though it is not that hot. "Damned shuttle was late. Had to hurry." He leans out. "Hello, Christine. You with this guy?"

"She is," you say, to spare her the need to and also because after all the times McCoy has teased her for this, it will do him—and her—good to hear you affirm the relationship.

She grins as she points to you. "Whatever he says."

"And Jim didn't live to see this. He'd have been happy for both of you."

You know that's true. "Are you well?" you ask, suddenly wanting him to be, even if you and he rarely see each other. 

"I am. Other than cutting it too short on my transports." He winks, then he studies the statue of Jim. "Why the hell isn't he looking up?"

"Indeed."

"Good likeness, though. Tougher than I thought it was going to be making my vid." He points with his chin to the buttons set around the memorial. Each, when pressed, features a holoscreen of someone who served closely with Jim, sharing memories both touching and humorous. You, too, found it difficult to maintain your composure even if your interviewer looked at you as if you were cold. 

"I listened to your vid, Len. It was wonderful." Christine grins at him.

"How's Nyota's? She was so nervous." McCoy doesn't seem to see that he's upsetting Christine so you try to move the conversation on and she lets you, but the two of you share a glance.

When Nyota was in town to record the vid, Christine wanted to see her, but Nyota found excuses not to. You suspect Nyota is uncomfortable with the fact you and Christine are together. She has always been interested in you, and you find her a charming and lovely woman but not one you wish to be involved with.

Much like Jim, you are generally drawn to scientists.

But you have not speculated to Christine why Nyota might have wanted to avoid her. If you are wrong, you could damage a friendship that appears fragile but could recover in time. If you are right, Nyota will grow used to your relationship with Christine, and their friendship could resolve in time.

You touch your finger on her hand, feeling for her emotions. There is a sting of hurt but primarily she is giving you a combination of grieving and...happiness. She looks down at where you are touching her, then meets your eyes and smiles gently.

You make your eyes as soft as you can and slide your fingers across her skin as you let go.

She turns away, her look untroubled.

You see Scott and Chekov hurrying, taking their seats next to Christine. You nod at them, and they nod in return. They were both at the launch. Where you should have been. Do they blame you? Do they know why you weren't there?

The ceremony is mercifully short. And while most of the attendees go inside, those of you who served with him on that first mission stay outside, moving back and over so you can take in the statue from all angles. They chose to show him as he was during the first voyage, when you first became his friend.

"He was so handsome," Christine says and you glance at her in surprise. "Not my type. Too emotionally available. But that doesn't mean I don't have eyes." She grins and moves closer, her arm pressed lightly against yours.

"I do not wish to go inside or hear more speeches from people who barely knew him." You look around, seeing a bit of shock on the faces of Scotty and Chekov, but McCoy and Christine look unsurprised.

"Let's go to his favorite watering hole, then." McCoy is rubbing his hands together. "He'd love that. He hated these empty ceremonies."

You follow him to some place called Smitty's. You never came here and you doubt you will ever come back. But for now, this is perfect.

McCoy leads you in and to the bar; the place is not surprisingly empty at this time of day, so you can all have stools. "Smitty, my good man. We're here to drink to James T. Kirk."

"We miss him here."

"Amen, my friend." McCoy leans in, drawing the bartender in as if he is one of your group. It is a skill you have always admired. "Other than my Vulcan friend here, who will have water, we'll have a round of scotch. Something Jim liked."

"You got it. And first round's on me. Jim was a fine man and a great customer."

You watch as Christine talks animatedly with Scott. They are laughing and it gives you pleasure to see her enjoying herself.

"So," McCoy tugs your arm to pull you down. "You really with her?"

"I am." 

"Okay, then. I have to say this. You hurt her, and there'll be hell to pay from Uncle Len."

"You are not her uncle."

"That's not the part of my statement you should be worried about."

You let an eyebrow be his answer. 

 

_Her:_

You are trying to enjoy your day off, rummaging through the racks at the boutique you love, trying to find thing you think Spock will like you in. You have the place to yourself until a woman comes in and starts perusing the jewelry counter.

A gray negligee catches your eye and you pull it out to admire it. You don't need it. But you imagine the way Spock's eyes will dilate when he sees you in it. You've learned to watch his eyes; they tell you so much when you're in bed.

Not that he's shy about telling you what he likes—and the few things he doesn't.

"Oh what the hell," you say softly as you grab the negligee and add it to the things you want to try on.

In the changing room, a burgundy dress and some shirts end up in the pile you're going to get. You try on the negligee and sigh—it's amazing. You don't need it.

You repeat that you don't need it as if it will mean more if you say it enough times, then you laugh and throw it with the others. Spock deserves it. He's been so nice to you.

You carry the ones you want out as one of the clerks takes the rejects back the racks. The woman looking at jewelry glances over at the negligee, which is lying on top of the pile, and smiles. "Pretty."

"Isn't it? I don't need it."

"No one ever needs something like that. And yet..."

You nod and turn back to the clerk, but then the woman sighs as she studies the jewelry in the case and says, "I hate this."

"You okay?"

"No. Just got married. Mother-in-law hates me. It's her birthday and I have no idea what to get her. I don't want to be cheap but I also don't want to look like I'm trying to bribe her into approving of me, you know?"

You nod, because you do know. Roger's mother couldn't stand you.

"You have a mother-in-law like that?"

"But for the grace of God." Which is a horrible thing to say considering Roger's fate, and yet you've always felt like you dodged a bullet not having to deal with Marilyn Korby for the rest of your life. "I was engaged to someone. But long ago. My current guy's mom is great."

"She approves of you?"

"Yeah, she does." You study the woman. "Have we met? You look familiar?" She has blue eyes and long blonde hair and looks to be in her mid twenties. "Starfleet?"

"Oh, goodness, no. Have you been to Philadelphia? We just moved here from there. My husband wanted to be closer to his family." She makes a funny face. "Missed his mommy."

You laugh. "Long apron strings, huh?"

"Very, very long. The longest." She sighs. "The things they sell here are too nice. I wish I knew the city better. Where should I shop?"

"I know an amazing chocolate place. You can get a nice gift without looking like you tried too hard. It's on my way if you want me to show you?"

"That's so nice of you. Yes." She smiles as she pushes away from the counter, and turns, leaning against it. "I'm Leslie, by the way."

"Christine."

"Nice to meet you." She seems to be studying the racks. "Such pretty clothes in here."

"You should buy something for yourself. Something your husband will like."

"I'm not terribly happy with him right now. Maybe next time." She takes a deep breath. "His ex lives here, too. And I just found out she's working in the same place he is. Which...I didn't know before we moved."

"Believe me. I am well acquainted with ex issues."

"Yeah but is your guy still in love with his ex?"

You sigh. "That's such a good question."

"Oh, sorry." She moves closer, studying you. "Do you hate her? I hate Martin's."

"I didn't know her well enough to hate her. But definitely strong dislike." You sigh. You're laying all this on a total stranger. But you need to talk to someone who's not Spock's mother about this. "There's also a coffee place if you want to grab a cup."

"That would be great. I don't have anyone to talk to right now. I'm not working—I mean I plan to, eventually, but I'm sort of between things. The relocation and everything..." She laughs a bit bitterly and looks down. "Wow, could I sound any more pathetic?"

"Totally understand. Funny how we put our whole lives on hold for a man, huh?"

"Yeah, real funny." She follows you out of the boutique and you talk easily as you walk the few blocks to the chocolatier. 

You have to move closer to her when a man rolling a stasis trolley comes up the sidewalk, and you smell her perfume. "What a lovely scent."

"Thank you. I love it but I also wear it because my mother-in-law is allergic."

You laugh because it's the kind of thing you would have liked to do to Roger's mom. Then you see the chocolate shop and say, "This is us," holding the door for her and then following her in. The scent of her perfume gives way to the luscious smell of chocolate and other goodies.

She wanders the shop, a smile growing. Finally she turns to you and says, "Yum. If she doesn't like this, she's not going to like anything."

You point to your favorite collection of truffles. "I can tell you on good authority that there is something for everyone in that box. No matter how picky."

"That one it is, then." 

You point to a display behind the counter. "For gifts, they'll include a balloon with her name on it, if you want."

"Too whimsical for, I think. Just the candy is fine." She smiles at the clerk as she pays then turns back to you. "Christine, thank you so much. Coffee's on me."

"Oh, you don't have to. I mean you're not working."

"I will be. And Martin's working—many, many hours. So many that I never see him. I'm sure he's springing for drinks for his tramp—I mean ex—so it's only fair if it's my treat."

You laugh. "Fine, coffee's on you."

 

_Him:_

You lie in bed, feeling contentment suffuse you now that you are home and Christine is in your arms.

She nuzzles in, fingers flitting over your skin the way you have come to crave, even if you would never admit that to her. She has no idea how much power she has over you. 

You could tell her. She will not hurt you the way Valeris did. And you trust her. But for now, while you are still learning how to be with her, you will forego over-sharing.

But touching her—that you can indulge. You pull her closer, kissing her for a long time. 

When you pull away, she laughs and cups your cheek. "Someone was lonely. I guess I don't have to worry about fidelity."

"Did you think you did?" But you can sense from where she touches you that she is not worried. "I would not betray you that way. If I were to wish to pursue someone else, I would simply tell you."

You narrow your eyes, sure that what you have just said is not a good thing to have shared, but she laughs. She surprises you frequently that way: so much more comfortable with truths, no matter how ugly, than uncertainty. But given her profession, perhaps that makes sense. Her job is to make sense of chaos.

"Well," she rubs her finger over your ear tips and you close your eyes and exhale with pleasure, "I missed the hell out of you. I, for one, have no one else in mind."

"Nor do I." You capture her fingers, forcing her to stop the pleasurable assault on your ears, and study her. "Are you attached to your apartment?"

For some, it would be a non sequitur, but you find she navigates the abrupt nature of Vulcan conversational shifts with ease. You enjoy how flexible she is that way.

"I hate my place. But I'm super attached to the room service." She studies you. "Why?"

"I would like us to live together. I am just not sure where."

"They have nicer places. On the upper floors. Unfurnished so you can bring your own things in." She smiles. "We can get things that are ours, not yours or mine."

You hear the unheard: or yours and Valeris's. You approve of that concept. "An excellent idea. And we would still have access to the room service, which I know is convenient for you."

"Exactly." 

Her happiness is pulsing into your skin, and you feel the need to protect yourself easing. You push her to her back and move over her, making sure she is looking at you before saying, "I love you."

Her smile is beautiful. "I love you, too." 

And then neither of your talk for a long time. When you finally lie quietly together, she says, "Which way do you want the apartment to face? I would have rather faced the water but they didn't have any when I moved in and I just wanted out of Cartwright's."

If you were human, you would laugh. She never loses the conversational thread—no matter how many orgasms interrupt it. "A water view would be pleasant." 

"I'll make inquiries." She strokes your face, her smile gentle and knowing. "You want out of here, don't you? The memories of her?"

For once, you don't feel jealousy surging up inside her with the mention of Valeris. So you simply say, "I do."

"When is your lease up?"

"I pay month to month." 

"That's crazy. I'll get working." She laughs. "I love furniture shopping. Do you like to shop?"

"No."

"Tough beans. You're helping me pick out the bed and the couch. Everything else I'll take care of." She makes a face. "Unless you love this bed or your couch."

"I do not. The only piece of furniture I am attached to is my desk and office chair. It belonged to my grandfather." Your human grandfather. He was kind to you at a time when you seemed to never measure up as a Vulcan, and never made you feel strange for being not fully human either. Someday, perhaps, you will tell her about him.

"Those are beautiful pieces. I don't blame you for loving them. I promise not to look for office furniture." She laughs and claps her hands lightly. "Something fun to do while you're off planet." She turns on her side, her expression easy and light. "I may have even made a friend while you were gone. Too early to tell but who knows. Maybe she'll like furniture shopping."

You thought you smelled a different perfume on her jacket. So many scents in this apartment, although the traces of Valeris are growing faint now that Christine's scent is overlaying them. You imagine a human nose would not even notice the difference.

"Is this someone from Starfleet?"

"No. A civilian." She makes a funny face. "I haven't had a civilian friend—other than your mom—since college." She traces your lips, smiling as they tick up slightly. "It's nice, you know? She doesn't understand my history or the conspiracy or what ops is or the things we've seen or done. I'm just...a female friend. Maybe even a little bit of a big sister. She's new to the city."

You sense her enthusiasm for this new person and are glad. You know she misses Nyota and Rand. And while she and McCoy hug in a manner that seems genuine at your infrequent dinners, they do not seem to reach out to each other otherwise.

"I would like to meet her. If your relationship progresses."

"She was so starstruck when I said I'd served with you and Jim. Plus, I think she's shy—and a little bit awkward. But yeah, that'd be nice. She may have already made friends though. She's younger than I am by a lot."

"It is not the age but the resonance."

"Sometimes, my love, you're a poet." She kisses you quickly. "Now, back to furniture. I've always dreamt of a four-post princess bed. Pink lace covering and lots of scroll work." She looks over and starts giggling. "If you could see your face..." She climbs on top of you, taking first one wrist and then another in her grasp, pushing them over your head. "I, sir, am no princess."

You let her pretend to hold you down—as if you could not overpower her if you wished. You love the feeling of her riding you, the way she slips over your skin, the way you fit together when she eases down and...there.

You breathe out slowly and reach for the meld points, the pleasure ratcheting up as you connect mentally. She gasps and begins to move more quickly, able to tell where you both are. 

As she rides you to completion and follows you into her own climax, head thrown back and skin gleaming, you think she is correct—she is no princess: she is a queen.

 

_Her:_

You're trying to figure out what to order from room service when your comm goes off. You see "Harris" on the caller identifier and frown as you answer. "Hello?"

"Christine? This is Leslie. You helped me with my mother-in-law's gift at the chocolate place and we went to coffee."

You laugh. "You could have stopped at Leslie. You're not forgettable."

"Oh. Good. I'm sorry. My...my mother-in-law said something mean a few days ago. About how I needed to work on being more memorable. So I didn't want to assume you'd remember me."

"You did not win the lottery with that one, sweetie."

"I know. Listen, I know you're super important at Starfleet and you're probably scheduled into next year, but Martin suddenly had to take a business trip, and I'm pretty sure it's with his ex, and well, I just would rather be anywhere but in our apartment right now? Is there any chance you want to get a coffee or something?"

"Actually, I was just about to order dinner. Why don't you come over?"

"Are you sure? I don't want to interfere with you guys."

"Oh, Spock's on Taluvis. He won't be back for a week. I'm sending you the address." You hit the combo of keys and hear her say, "Oh, wow, that's very close to us. I can walk." 

You feel sorry for her because this all seems to be making her so happy. "So I'll see you in a bit."

"Yes. Twelve minutes." She laughs. "That's what it says on my directions. Twelve minutes to walk there if I take the route they're showing. How fast do they think I walk—that's mostly uphill? I think it will be more like fifteen."

"Whenever you get here, you'll get here. I'm thinking bacon cheeseburgers. I've been doing the vegetarian thing lately and it gets old. You want one—or something else?"

"Ground meat...it's just that I made meatloaf last night—not that Martin ate any of it. I know I'm not a bad cook but— Okay, you don't care. You just want to order so the food is ready when I get there. How about a salad and a big order of sweet potato fries? Do they have those?"

"They have everything. Well not everything everything, but a lot. I know they have the fries and they're really good. What kind of dressing for the salad?"

"Ranch? Maybe extra, so I can dip the fries?" She sounds so tentative, like she is asking for the world.

Again you feel a pang of pity. Have you ever felt so...small? Sometimes McCoy made you feel that way—although you don't think he meant to the way Leslie's husband and mother-in-law seem to with her. Len was just an accidental asshole. "Extra ranch. We'll be swimming in it." You smile when she laughs. "See you soon."

The food arrives just before she does, and you let her in and tell her to drop her stuff on the couch. "What do you want to drink?"

"What are you having?"

"Beer." You nod toward the bottle on the table.

"Oh." She looks worried. "I don't drink. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to booze it up for me to like you. Trust me, dating a Vulcan means I have juices galore."

"Cranberry is fine. Or whatever you have."

"I have cranberry. Ice?"

She nods and then looks at the food cart. There are five extra things of ranch and she starts to laugh. "Wow, you were not kidding."

"I ordered the fries for me, too. Dipping them in ranch sounds yummy. Usually I go for tartar sauce but change is good." You realize it's been a long time since you tried something new. "Change is really good." You hand her the glass of juice and lift your beer. "To new friends."

"To new friends." She seems unsure so you clink your beer against her glass gently. "Were you raised in a convent?"

"Oh, no. It's just... I did that with my glass to the blessed Lorraine's—that's my mother-in-law—drink and well, she did not like it. Told me it was a low-brow thing to do."

"Wow. Bitch."

"As I said. And the drinks—well. It's not that I don't drink; it's more I can't. Because...I enjoy it a little too much. Yet another way I don't measure up." She looks down, clearly embarrassed.

"Enough said. I will never force booze on you."

"Thank you." She follows you to the table and as you start handing out the plates, she says, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got a job. Much faster than I expected."

"That's great. What are you doing?"

"I'm sort of a headhunter." At your look, she laughs. "You know. Executive staffing."

"Oh, that kind."

She laughs. "I mostly do research—finding people who fit a profile—because as you've seen, I'm not the most socially adept. Not really an 'in front of the crowd' recruiter type. I know it drives Martin nuts, how awkward I am." She sighs. "Okay, I am not going to talk about him again tonight. I am so sorry."

"You can talk about him. It's fine."

"No. I want to forget him just for tonight. Tell me about you and Spock. I mean, everyone knows who he is. He and Kirk both. Were they together...?"

You laugh. "No. But you're not the first person to ask." At least you think the answer is no. You've never come right out and asked—and what difference does it make now?

"Spock is so handsome. But then, Vulcans are such an attractive people."

"Yes, they are."

"But...cold?" She digs into her salad with gusto and races you for a sweet potato fry from the huge basket you ordered. 

You win, laughing. "Vulcans aren't cold."

"No?"

"Not when you get to know them."

"I always thought they were noble. There was a Vulcan woman in that big conspiracy, though—she was a traitor, right?"

"She was."

"But why?"

You sigh. This is the downside of a friend who's not in Starfleet—no shared landscape for this kind of thing. There are so many ways you could describe Valeris, but you decide to try to be fair. "I think she was misguided. By, uh, the guy I was with before Spock." You frown, trying to figure out the simplest way to explain it to someone who doesn't understand Klingons and neutral zones. "I think he filled her head with the wrong ideas. She was with Spock before I was, and I think she thought Spock would approve once he understood the end goal."

"Which was what? War?"

"The end to a threat. The end of the Klingon Empire. Or something. I'm a little fuzzy, frankly, on what they thought they were doing. Suffice it to say, my guy did not fill me in on the details. Boy did I feel like a sap."

"Wow, this is a soap opera." She immediately looks uncomfortable. "That was rude. I am so sorry."

"No, it's pretty apt, frankly."

"So, you're with Spock now? Did you two double date as couples?"

"God, no." You laugh, picturing the holy hell that would have been. "I've known him for decades. Loved him for that long. I guess...when it was clear he was choosing her, I finally let go. And moved on to that other guy."

"So if he was with her, then Spock had to know he was with the traitor, didn't he? They'd have had that psychic connection, right, that you read about?" There is a world of condemnation in her voice.

"It's way more complicated than that. And no, he didn't know what she was. I—I think he was blinded by love. I think she may have been the love of his life." You take a long pull of your beer because it hurts saying that, but it's the truth and you're sick of not saying it to Ny or to Rand when you comm them, because they'd just look at you like you're pathetic for expecting anything different.

When had Spock ever chosen you? Until now, when no one else is left. But that's unfair. Because when you're with him, you're so happy. It's just when he's gone that you let these thoughts in.

"Now, I've made you sad."

"No. I really like being with him. And I know he likes being with me. It's just...it's just hard not to be a first choice."

"I understand." Her voice is sweet and apologetic. "I think he's lucky to have you. You're so kind."

"Not always."

"But you are. You could badmouth her—and him—but you're not. You're being so...logical about it. Maybe it wears off if you're around Vulcans too long?" She smiles gently. "I am going to take a lesson from you. Stop complaining about my situation. Look at it rationally."

"Hey, sometimes you need to vent. Now, this Lorraine, mother-in-law from hell. I think you need to get stuff off your chest, so spill, sister."

Her grin is so open and grateful you feel something settling down inside you that got riled up with all this talk about one true loves. It's nice to be around someone who thinks you're the one with the healthy relationship. And you know you've got it better than she does. You have a good man whose family you love. A man who makes you feel unbearably sexy when you're around him—that's the most surprising thing of all.

You can tell Martin doesn't make Leslie feel that way. You wish there was something you could do, but you know listening is the best you can offer.

But that's not nothing. Not for friends.

As you clean up the dishes, you ask, "Do you like furniture shopping?"

She frowns, clearly trying to figure out if there was a logical progression to that question.

You laugh. "Spock and I are getting a place together. Still here, just bigger, on a different floor." With an amazing view of the water. "But we need furniture. Everything he has..."

"She had, too, because she lived with him, right?" She makes a commiserating face.

"Right. I want things that are just ours, you know? He's going to help me with the key items. But the rest—there are so many fun shops and you said you don't know the city."

She smiles, a sweet expression. "You don't need to sell me the experience, Christine. Count me in. I'd love to help you wipe her out of existence."


	4. Chapter 4

_Him:_

You are on Harriman's _Enterprise_ , and you know you have been less than welcoming to the new captain. But every time you look at him, you see Jim—Jim dying, Jim sacrificing himself for a ship that wasn't ready to be launched. Why hadn't this man said something? He was the captain: lives depended on him and yet he had gone ahead with a launch.

The brass would have pushed him. The logical part of you knows this. But as you sit on the ship that killed your best friend, the logical part of you is not in control.

When the announcement comes that you are within beaming range to Earth's spacedock, you pick up your things and head to the transporter room, not bothering to say goodbye to Harriman. You do not think he will mind; the dislike seems to run both ways. 

Once on spacedock, you beam to Starfleet Command, make your reports, check in with Christine, who has to work late, and then head home.

Home: a place you now share with her. A place neither Valeris nor Cartwright ever spent time in. A place that is just for you two.

To your amazement, the apartment looks finished. Two weeks ago, you and Christine had picked out a bed, a couch, and moved your grandfather's desk set as well as your personal items in. Now, the place is fully furnished, and you walk around the unit, enjoying the opportunity to assess while Christine is still at work.

A white leather chaise seems particularly appealing and you sink into softness, then find support as you move. Whatever it is made of, it follows your body's profile as you move, rising up to meet hollows. You sigh, relieved to be done with this latest mission.

What feels like a few moments later, Christine is waking you up with a kiss. Instead of asking what time it is, you pull her down to you, enjoying the feel of her as her lips touch yours. 

"Are you hungry?" she murmurs when you finally let her up. "Because I'm starving."

You realize you are very hungry, and not for the first time are grateful your building offers room service. A short time later you are eating dinner together at a table that seems to be made of hammered steel and diftwood-colored wood.

"You like?" She smiles as if she knows you do.

"I approve of all of it." You glance over at the sofa. 

"Except those?" She is looking at the orange throw pillows you are not sure you appreciate. "Leslie said orange is the latest thing. She's amazing, Spock. She helped me so much." Her smile is easy and sweet, and you are glad she has found a friend.

You had not realized how truly isolated she was until you watched her with first your mother and now this new woman. Humans need more than just their mate—something your father might have told you if you and he were given to personal conversations about your women.

She glances at the chaise and you follow her gaze. "You looked so comfy. I wasn't sure about getting that. It was really expensive."

"Between us we have plenty of credits."

"I know. But it's a chair."

"Yes, a chair that I can see giving both of us a great deal of comfort in the future."

She laughs. "That's what Leslie said. And the comfort features are created by doctors as well as designers. So it's beyond ergonomic." She reaches out and you take her hand. 

"I approve."

"Good." She draws her hand back and concentrates on her food for a few minutes. "I left some blank spaces on the wall for your things. And we can move my art around if you don't like it." She is talking very fast so you reach out for her hand again, and are surprised to feel how unsure she is. 

"I have very little art. What you put up is lovely."

"You have the Chagall." She pulls her hand free and gestures to a blank spot over the couch. "I thought...there?" 

"Yes, that is an ideal spot for it." You study her. "Do you not like the Chagall?"

She looks surprised. "Oh, I do. I don’t always get his imagery, but then that's the case for lots of art. Understanding and appreciation are often two different things."

You know your lips are ticking up; you feel that way about humans at times. "I agree."

She puts her utensils down and stares at you. "I really missed you."

"Is this in some way a less than positive thing? Missing someone is in direct proportion to affection, is it not?"

She laughs. "It is. But...did you miss me?"

You frown, trying to imagine why she is asking.

"It's just that, before, if I'd woken you up that way, kissing you, you would have..." She takes a deep breath. "Wanted to have sex."

"I do want to have sex. I did then, too. But you asked if I was hungry, so I assumed we would eat first and have sex later."

She laughs. 

"Some day, Christine, you will be sure of me." You mean it to be a statement, and yet there is a questioning note that you regret—almost an accusation.

"I'm sorry, Spock. It's been such a long day and I thought I could get off early to welcome you home but then more shit kept happening. I guess...I guess I was disappointed and I'm off balance." 

"And you did not have the benefit of a nap in the lovely new chaise you have procured for us."

"I sure didn't, did I?" She looks around the apartment. "I love our place, Spock."

"As do I, Christine."

 

_Her:_

The chime sounds, so you open the door to the new place and grin at Leslie. "Ready for the grand tour?"

"I am." She hands you a bottle of a very nice Cabernet. "Tradition, right?"

"You helped decorate. You should get a fee, not have to bring a gift. But thank you. I'll enjoy this."

You take her around the apartment, and she exclaims in all the right places. "It's so pretty." She sits on the couch you and Spock picked out, and clutches one of the orange throw pillows she insisted on to her, almost as if for comfort. "You're happy?"

"We are." You get up and move over to her. "What is it? Is it Martin? What's he done now?"

"Have you ever let someone derail your life." She shakes her head. "No, have you ever derailed your life following someone? Because it's always our choice, isn't it?"

"It usually is, yeah. And yes, I have. The fiancé I mentioned. We didn't break up. He went on an expedition, and they crashed and were lost. I was on the tenure track at the university I was at. Had one PhD and was on my way to another. But he was gone and he'd been everything to me during a really impressionable time. He was my mentor and the first man to really seem to want to know what I thought about things. It was so much more than just chasing after a lover, you know?"

She nods. "My life was on track, too. You wouldn't know it, but I was doing so well where I was. People admired me. And I had—well, maybe not friends like you, but I knew a lot of people, could say hello and how are you, you know?"

You nod.

"And I had a man—a nice one. One I looked up to. One who thought I could do no wrong, until he found out I was...betraying him."

You don't know what that's like, but compassion doesn’t always require empathy so you nod and make generally soothing sounds.

"I had boundless opportunities in front of me. And I was sidetracked." She sighs. "And now I'm here and I'm mostly alone and I'm finding myself envying your beautiful place and the happiness you have."

"Oh, sweetie, when I invited you over, I never meant to make you sad."

"Oh, no, none of this is your fault, Christine. You've been nothing but nice. You didn't tell me to make bad choices and follow a man who ultimately I left."

"You left Martin?"

She seems to realize what she said. "Will leave, I mean. I will leave him. But even if I do, those opportunities are gone. It's been too long to go back. Too many things have happened."

"I know. I found my fiancé. Or his body, rather. But by then, it was too late to go back to academia. So I found a new path with new friends and new goals."

"If I could go back, I'd tell the girl I was not to follow a man."

You smile. "I think I would tell myself that, but then I think of what I have now." At her look, you smile gently. "I'd have never met Spock if I hadn't done the things I did."

"I can see how for you inertia is comforting. But I think of how many alternatives there would have been for me if I had just acted differently."

"We're trained to spin scenarios in ops. The thing is, not all of them have the same weight. People tend to go a certain way, repeat decisions. If you didn't follow Martin, you might have followed another man, for the way he made you feel, the part of you he attracted. Could you have done something else? Possibly. Would you have without some outside force? Probably not."

"Inertia indeed. So unless I could go back in a time machine and convince myself, I am stuck." She looks like she thinks that might be a possibility. "Fascinating."

You laugh. "You sounded just like Spock." Then you hear the main door opening, hear Spock's familiar step. "Speaking of whom, I think someone's home early. I know you've been reluctant to meet him, but you need to get over the starstruck thing, my friend. He's just a man." You stand, prepared to introduce them, but Leslie grabs you, pulling you in front of her, her grip—her grip far stronger than you expect. "Leslie, what the hell?"

Spock walks in and there's a moment of confusion as he takes in the tableau you must be making. But then his nostrils flare, the way they do when he is scenting you during sex, and he says, "You," at the same time Leslie moves her hand to your throat. 

He's been carrying a phaser since Khitomer and he pulls it out. "Let her go."

"You must shoot, Spock. If you are logical, you must shoot."

You frown—what the hell is she talking about? Why does she sound like she knows him?

"We are not replaying scenes here, Valeris."

Valeris? Va-fucking-leris? You try to turn, but she says, "No, Christine. Behave or I will snap your neck. Tell her how little effort it would take for me to do it, Spock."

"Stay still, Christine."

This seems like a bit of a standoff, so you try your own diplomacy skills—Vulcans are logical people. They'll listen, won't they? Even if Spock is still gutted in his deepest self over her betrayal. Even if Valeris must harbor hatred for his forced meld and destroying the conspiracy. Best not to think of that. Best just to put on her most soothing voice and say, "How about you take your hand off my throat and Spock, you put down the weapon?"

She laughs, a sound so soft you think only you can hear it. "Spock, if you want me to let her live, you will put the phaser down, and kick it over to me."

You can tell Spock is assessing the situation, trying to find a better answer than compliance. You're spinning scenarios, too, but this woman behind you is Vulcan strong and you're sleeping with her ex. She can kill you in an instant. May in fact want to after all the stuff you've shared.

Holy shit—you've made her a part of your goddamned life. 

What the hell is wrong with you? She played you as skillfully as she did Spock. Only with Spock she at least had some true regard. "You fucking bitch."

"You are much less pleasant now, Christine. If you keep it up, it will be a pleasure to kill you." There is something off in her voice. You think—you think she doesn't mean that.

And you remember what she was saying. The...regret she has. For following not Martin, but Cartwright. The diversion that blew her life to hell.

"Valeris—Leslie. Please? You don't want to hurt me. I know you don't."

She moves you over to the chaise she helped you pick out. "Perfect for naps," she'd said as you'd debated if it was worth the exorbitant price tag. Was she going to kill you and throw your dead body on it? You try to resist her, but she's making it nearly impossible to breathe. "Spock, the phaser. Now. Or lose yet another one of your lovers."

You think that's cruel, that it may anger him, but instead he puts the phaser on the floor and kicks it to her. "If you hurt her, I will hunt you. I will never stop. And when I find you, I will kill you. Very slowly."

"Wow." She lets up on your throat slightly. "Do you understand what he just said? How counter to Vulcan ideology it is? You sounded like a Klingon, Spock."

"They at least have honor." You choke the words out.

"Not all of them," she says as she moves her hand off your throat and you breathe in great gasping breaths. But then she grasps your shoulder. "You will have a severe headache when you wake up. I regret that. I have been told that antitox is surprisingly effective for the pain."

"Wait? What?"

You feel the pinch on your shoulder—surprisingly painless, but then your head feels as if it's exploding, and you gasp in agony just before everything turns to black.

 

_Him:_

You start to move as Christine goes limp, but Valeris adjusts the phaser at her instead of you. "She is only unconscious, Spock. Do you want me to kill her?"

For a second, rage takes over and you want to charge her no matter the consequences, but you force yourself to take a breath, to think.

You hold up your hands in a temporary truce but then you notice Valeris's hand is shaking. That she is setting Christine down very carefully on the chaise. That when she meets your eyes, hers lack any of the resistance or certainty they did on the bridge, when she refused to answer Jim's questions.

Not for the first time you hate Admiral Cartwright for what he did to this young woman. Although, of course, the choice was ultimately hers. 

"What now, Valeris?" You move to the table, hoping she will come with you and sit, leaving Christine farther from harm.

She does not. She seems to be fully aware that any moderation you are showing is because of Christine. "I did not expect you to be here. You were supposed to be on Faella."

"I was. The negotiations ended early." You look at Christine. "I did not tell her. I wanted to...surprise her."

"Well, you surprised both of us." She sinks to the chaise, sitting next to Christine and sighs. "I never told you I was sorry."

"For which part, Valeris?"

"Yes. So many sins I have to account for. But not all to you, Spock. You are not the Federation or Starfleet. You are a man. You were mine."

You know there is anger in your eyes and do not try to push it back. "Is that the reason for this game you've been playing with Christine? Because you are jealous? Because you want to hurt me—or her."

"Or both of you. I could wish to hurt you both." But she leans back and sighs. "Do you like my new appearance? Does it remind you of Leila Kalomi? Your long-lost love?"

"I have had many chances during my life to pursue her. I never did. Your insecurity about her does you no credit."

"Well, your mother never tired of fanning those flames. Do you know how many times I had to listen to her go on about you and your father preferring humans?"

"As I was with you—as I planned to make our bond permanent—you should have ignored her." You lean in. "Or, if you had allowed the meld, you would have known my true feelings for you. But you would not meld with me."

"You know why." She sounds like a human teen. Angry and frustrated.

"I do know why. It was eminently logical why you would not, given your role in the conspiracy. But do not seek to blame me—to pull specters from my past—when you were to blame for the lack of certainty. I cared for you without measure."

"Cared." She strokes Christine's hair off her cheek. "But now you care for this human. Your mother, after all, was right."

You are not sure what the right thing to say is; you do not want to upset Valeris further when her hand is so near Christine's throat.

"I had to know, Spock."

"You had to know what?" Does she mean she had to know that you moved on? Why would you not have? 

She sits up and studies you. "I do not mean that you moved on. Although Cartwright thought she would turn to you and that this time, you might respond. He had many allies and some of them were watching both you and Christine and reporting to him—at least until we were remanded to the Klingons. They saw you talking several times."

"Then what did you have to know?"

"If he really intended to kill the two of you. When we reached Rura Penthe, he told me there were still faithful—members who would never be found. And that he intended to see that the man who had brought down the conspiracy would pay the ultimate price—even if it included the woman the admiral was obsessed with. Perhaps _because_ it included the woman he was obsessed with." She seems to be watching you closely, no doubt seeing the dismay on your face. "I did to him what you did to me, Spock, and after I had my identity altered, I found the people I had seen in the meld. But the conspiracy was set up in a way that even he didn't know everyone."

You look down at the table. You were a fool to have thought it was over. "Give me the rest of the names and I will work with Starfleet security to—"

"No. The people we are talking about are not even on their radar. I know because I have killed two of them already. They were never questioned after Khitomer." She cocks her head, her look taunting. "But you were, weren't you? By our crack team of security experts. You were in a holding cell instead of by Kirk's side." 

You feel rage rising, at her, at security, but you push it back down.

"Spock, I ripped more names than I expected from their minds. Security will get nowhere with this and the conspirators will go to ground. You might get farther than security but do you really want to rape another mind, let alone many?"

Her words evoke what you think she wants them to. Her trembling under your fingers. Her mind-scream loud in your mind. The way you...ripped the information from her.

She has not looked away. "Will you trust yourself to meld with Christine if you have to mind-rape others? I imagine that first meld after the one you forced on me was difficult for you—how will you feel after many? Will you want her to see the man you've become or if you won't meld with her, will she stay with you? She is uncertain already."

"You no doubt encouraged that insecurity."

"Actually, I did not. I...I like her. I wanted to know what she was like—if you prospered with her. If I approved of her as my successor—did we not do the ritual of succession once? This was my version of it."

You try to hear the lie in her voice. Try to hear all the times she played you, but she does not seem to be trying to mislead you in this. And the look she gives Christine is so full of affection it could be human.

But that is her goal, now. To be human—to fit in. You must never lose sight of that. She will pretend to emotions she does not feel because that is what she must do to survive.

She stands. "If it were just you who was at risk, I am sure you would take your chances with the assassins and turn me in. But it is not just you. Tell me, Spock. Can you afford to lose her? After everything else you have lost already?" 

You stand, hands clenched. You know your duty. You need to turn her in. You need to at least try, even if Christine is put in danger. The needs of the many...

But this woman is an efficient killer. She hid the truth from you for years. It is only logical to admit she is the better choice of the two of you to hunt down those who would harm you.

"And when you find them all? Then what? Will you come back and kill her?"

"Why would I do that?" She laughs and the expression and sound are jarring, even coming from her new human face. "Spock, I am trying to right the wrongs I helped create. I know that I chose the wrong path. I thought...I thought you would approve. That you would see the logic once we succeeded. And I was...proud of being trusted. Of Cartwright's interest in me. You know I like to excel. This made me feel...special."

"In a way I never did?" Again the hurt, and you wish you could act like a full Vulcan, in this at least.

"They were not the same thing. Spock, you were my lover but you were also my mentor. You expected me to follow in your path. And this—this would have been mine alone. Don't you see?" She sighs. "But I know now that it was wrong. And I will...atone."

She turns the phaser around and walks to you, holding it out. "It is your choice now. Do I continue to hunt and keep her safe for you? Or do you turn me in and take on that role yourself?"

Christine moans softly and she looks back at her. "You're likely to lose her either way, if it helps you decide. Although I believe she will eventually forgive you for letting me go. But only in the second scenario do you lose yourself. Hasn't this conspiracy taken enough away from you?" Her voice is pure Vulcan and her eyes are steel as she waits.

You take the phaser, dial it back to stun, and holster it.

"You're going to have some explaining to do when she awakes. She will hate me, but you are the one who will feel her anger."

"I will deal with her emotions. Give me your word you will keep her safe. If it is a choice between saving her or me, you will choose her. Do you understand?"

"I do. She is fortunate that you care so deeply. Someday she will understand that." She turns and walks out of the apartment, your finger on the phaser the whole time.

You want to pull the trigger, to drop her like a stone, call Starfleet security, and end this.

But you do not want to hunt the conspirators. You want that part of your life to be over. And while you can pull names and information from her mind, you can never duplicate her experience with the conspiracy, can never make them confide in you the way she will be able to. Nor will they trust you, not when you were one of the people who stopped them.

You go into the bathroom and get some of Christine's antitox, then move her to the couch, where you can sit next to her and wait for her to wake. And practice what you will tell her.

You strongly suspect she will not agree but letting Valeris go, as wrong as it feels, is the logical thing to do.

 

_Her:_

You come up fighting, striking out, kicking, and your shin connects with something hard. It hurts and you roll into a ball and mutter, "Fuck."

"Christine, shhh. It is all right. She is gone."

Spock. Spock is alive. You open your eyes and immediately shut them. From your head to your shoulder, every nerve is throbbing.

"Here. Antitox." His fingers hover at your lips, so you open your mouth and let him slip in the small tablet. 

It dissolves under your tongue and you open your eyes tentatively. "Valeris?"

"Is gone."

"Are you all right? Did she stun you?" But then you realize his phaser is in the holster on his hip. "How did you get that back?"

"I need to explain."

You let your eyes travel slowly from the holster to his face. Pressing your hand against your face, you try to make the pain stop. "Where is she?" But you see it in his eyes, before he can even start to form words. " You let her go?"

"Christine, I had to."

"You had to? What? She threatened you with a weapon that you either took back or she gave back to you?" You try to struggle away from him. "Why the hell would you let her go?"

"Because she is protecting you."

"Oh, by pretending to be my new best bud?" You push away from him, trying to stand and your head explodes with pain. "Oh, fucking—just kill me now."

"Sit. Please." 

You stumble to the chaise, not wanting to be next to him, and curl up, feeling the material cradle you. "Do you still love her? Are you going to her?"

"Christine, listen to me. There are members of the conspiracy at large. She is...she is hunting them. Melding with them to find other members."

You think of how she described her new job. _Head hunting._ You laugh bitterly and pain again explodes. "Oh, fuck me." When it finally subsides, you glare at him. "And then she's taking them to Starfleet security? Oh, wait, no, I bet she's not."

"She is killing them."

"And that's all right with you?" Your voice is getting louder and hurting your ears. "Shit," you whisper.

"Christine, I would rather they be rounded up. But can you really expect me to trust that Starfleet security would not mishandle this the same way they did you and me? None of the people she has found so far were questioned. And there are others—Cartwright didn't know them all. She is getting those names."

"Getting. Such a safe word. You mean she's melding. The way you did with her?"

"Yes, that is what I mean."

"This grudge you're holding against security is ridiculous."

"Grudge? They were so busy interrogating me about the conspiracy, when it was clear I had nothing to do with it, that they prevented me from going to the launch. I could have saved him, Christine."

"What if you couldn't have?"

"Then at least I would know that. This way...this way I will always feel the guilt."

You can hear the pain in his voice. "What else will you always feel, Spock? Did you let her go because it was pragmatic or because you still love her? Because you will always love her?"

"This is not about how I feel for her. It is about you. Cartwright intended for you to die."

"Bullshit. The man worshipped me, Spock. And you know what? He would have turned her in. I would never have had to ask him who he loved more."

"He was the head of this conspiracy and you would hold him up as some sort of paragon? How can you bring him into this argument as any kind of realistic factor other than negative?" He gets up and moves closer to you. "Would you rather I lied? Told you she stunned me but left my phaser."

You realize it could have happened that way. Phasers have trackers. She might use his in his apartment but she could not have kept it.

But he's saying that's not how it happened. He's saying he let her walk out. 

"Did you kiss her goodbye?"

"Christine. You are being illogical."

"That's not an answer." You can feel pain and insecurity rising along with rage. You scramble out of the chaise because you realize it isn't yours. Nothing in this place is yours. It must have been a grand joke she played, being your friend. "Did you know it was her and not tell me? You can smell differences."

"The perfume she wore. It was an excellent masking agent."

You lean against the wall, looking around the apartment. "I can't trust you, Spock."

And then you see anger in his eyes. Not restrained Vulcan ire but pure frustration. "You have not trusted me since the beginning. What else must I do to prove myself to you? Can you not just accept that letting her go was the best thing to do?"

"No. No, I can't." You kick a small table she helped you pick out across the floor. The glass sculpture that's on it—a favorite of yours—shatters.

"Everything in here is tainted." You look at him to make sure he understands you're including him in that assessment. "I don't want any of it. You keep the place. I'll get my stuff later."

"Christine, you do not have to leave. Please, we need to discuss this."

"What's to discuss? She's...she's everywhere. Was I ever here?"

He moves closer. "You were—you are. I love you."

"But you said the same thing to her, didn't you?" You raise your hand as he starts to speak. "Perhaps not those exact words, but the Vulcan equivalent. You said it to her and you said it to her first. And now she's on the loose because you let her go."

He grabs your arm. "Christine."

"Let go of me or I'll have security here so fast it will make your head spin."

He lets you go.

Of course he does. Protecting her to the end.

 

_Him:_

You walk down the halls of Starfleet Command, slowing as you see several officers rushing towards you but they pass by without paying attention to you. You let out breath you were not aware you were holding.

Two days you have been waiting for Christine to turn you in—or to come back to you. She has done neither.

You turn and head for emergency operations and skirt the bay to get to her office. She is alone, working, and she doesn't look up until you say, "Christine?"

Before she can school her features into disapproval, there is welcome in her expression. Welcome and love.

You walk in and sit, waiting for her to either order you out or call for privacy.

She does the latter. "What do you want?"

"You. Back in our apartment."

"You let her go."

"And you also are letting her go, are you not? You have not called security."

She looks wounded. "I'm protecting you, not her. You walked out on them in the middle of questioning. How do you think it would go for you if I told them you also have been in contact with her, and not only did you let her leave but you didn't even report the meeting?"

"It is not as if I called the meeting. She was in our apartment because you invited her."

"I invited Leslie Harris. Who knocked me out. You were the one who let Valeris leave."

You do not answer, are not sure what you have to do to make her understand that keeping her safe is more important to you than sending Valeris back to a holding cell. But she doesn't want to believe—she hasn't trusted you and she isn't trusting you now.

"Will you tell them, Christine?"

"No. But that doesn't mean I won't turn her in if I can think of a way to do it without involving you." She meets your eyes and you can see she is serious.

"Please come home."

Surprise registers on her face. "Home? Is that how you think of our place?"

"It was. Now it is a just space I inhabit alone. If you were to come back, that would change." You lean in and want to take her hand, but think she will not respond well to that—she is still so angry. "I would like for us to talk about this."

"What is there to talk about? How you chose her over me?"

"I did not." But you can see by the steely resolve in her eyes that she will not listen. 

You are doing this for her, but she has decided to not believe that. You nod, and wonder if she can tell how defeated you feel as you walk out, leaving her alone.


	5. Chapter 5

_Her:_

You're sitting in your favorite bar, wondering what Spock is doing, when you smell a familiar perfume and feel someone sliding into the booth beside you. "Oh, you've got to be shitting me."

You start to turn to face her, but feel her hand on your shoulder, soft this time. 

"Are you going to knock me out again?" If she does, at least you know the antitox trick. It was startlingly effective after about fifteen minutes—your head stopped hurting halfway to the hotel you've been staying in since you walked out on Spock.

"No, I'm not going to knock you out but I do have a phaser. It is not set on stun so I suggest you act naturally or I will shoot." She lets go of your shoulder. "I know that I hurt you. I know you would like to hurt me back. Thus, the phaser. Now, you can turn around if you wish."

You turn and study her. "You don't sound human anymore."

"The jig, as they say, is up, is it not?" She is smiling but now that you know who she is, the expression is jarring. Her hand is under the table, and you tilt your head slightly and see that, yes, she is holding a phaser but you can't tell what it's set to.

"You did not believe me?"

"I had to check."

She smiles again. "You remind me of Kirk in some ways."

"Well, we're both human, so..." You want to launch yourself at her. Claw her eyes out. Take the phaser and pull the trigger until she's dead.

You do none of those things. "Is there a reason you're here, Valeris?"

"I wanted to clear the air."

You can't help it. You laugh. "What? Let me guess—you want to tell me you were fucking Cartwright while I was with him?"

"The admiral? No, I was not. You were everything to him."

"Well, I think I took second place to a massive conspiracy."

She nods, her face falling into an expression that finally looks Vulcan even with human features.. "Yes, but other than that, you came first." 

You aren't sure what she expects you to do, and you flinch back when she leans in. 

"Christine, why do you never call him Matthew anymore? Does it work? To distance yourself by only referring to him as Cartwright? Am I still Leslie to you—or simply the traitor?"

"You were never Leslie."

She cocks her head and seems to consider that. "I was never only Leslie, but there was no other Leslie Harris whose life I took over. So, in actuality, I was Leslie. I was your friend."

"You're sick."

She doesn't answer, just shifts a bit as the waiter comes up. "I'll have a tonic water please. With lime. And my friend will have another of—whatever that is." 

"I'll switch to what she's having." Once the waiter is gone, you study her. "You morph into human with astounding ease. Even contractions—I'm impressed."

"I always had a back-up plan, Christine. I kept a surgeon with limited scruples but great skill on retainer. I'd mapped out escape plans in case I ended up in any number of detention facilities. Even Rura Penthe—Chang was not the only Klingon who opposed peace, and photos are so easily doctored."

"Nyota said you were easy to be around." Actually what she told you was that Valeris was scarily human at times without ever not being Vulcan. You should have remembered that.

"It was a skill I cultivated. Learning human behaviors—the way you speak and your little pet sayings—was important to me since I knew I might have to pass as one. I was, after all, part of a conspiracy that I believed logical in its goals and means, but which had a not insignificant chance of failure." She leans back as the waiter brings the drinks. Once he is gone, she says, "Admiral Cartwright wanted to bring you in. He hated having to lie to you."

"He...what?"

"I told him not to. From what I knew of you, I did not think you would be sympathetic."

"Got that right, toots."

She smiles and you're struck by something. "Oh my God. You look like her—like Leila Kalomi. Why didn't I see it?"

"You weren't expecting it and I modified it somewhat. She was his first love, you know. Not T'Pring. Have you met T'Pring? She is unpleasant."

"We're not going to sit here and chat about Spock's exes."

"Why not? We are both his exes, I think. Did you not leave him after he let me go?"

You look away. "He was tainted."

"Then turn him in." She smiles in a gotcha fashion. "But you love him, so you will not." She plays with the drink, swirling it so the ice spins around the glass without spilling a drop. "Do you know why he let me go?"

"Because you were probably holding a phaser just like now? People tend to repeat behaviors."

"That's a logical answer, actually. I can see why you please him. But no, while that might be a reason to let me escape the apartment, it does not explain why he has not alerted Starfleet that I am alive." Her tone is like that of a teacher to a group of pre-schoolers, and it angers you, as you think she intends.

"He let you go—he continues to let you go—because you're getting rid of the members of the conspiracy. But that's something he could have done if he just let Starfleet catch you. He could meld with you the same way he did before."

You see the same pitying expression on her face as Spock wore when you told him that. What is so flawed with your logic?

"That will not work, unfortunately for you. I know the names of very few of the members who are left. I took what I could from Cartwright before I killed him."

"Why did you kill him?"

"He wanted to kill Spock. He was always jealous of him because you loved him. And Spock ruined everything—a greater crime in the admiral's book. He gave the orders to kill Spock from the detention center on Earth to a select few of his faithful. But he didn't tell me until we were on our way to Rura Penthe. He knew I wouldn't allow Spock to be hurt."

You try to square the Cartwright you lived with against this version of him. Obsessed. Petty. But why not—his hard-on for destroying Klingons was at the root of this entire conspiracy.

"So you know what Cartwright knew and Spock can rip out what you know the same way he did before. I don't see the problem."

"And then...?" She is smiling—a condescending expression. "There are more, Christine. More known only to each member. Conspirators they brought in to add to the web. I get those names before I...dispose of the problems." She leans in. "Do you have any idea what Spock did to me? To pull those names from a mind that way? The...violence of the act."

You refuse to look away. "It wasn't as if you didn't deserve it." You imagine the meld Ny told you about. The way Spock ripped the names of the conspirators from her, the pain she seemed to be in. 

"Perhaps not. But it did not just hurt me. It injured him in a far more lasting manner." 

You look away.

"I have lived in the twilight world of expediency. Despite what Spock thinks, there is no black or white for me, only shades of gray. But he... He is idealistic. It is part of his charm—and an element of his essential personality."

You close your eyes, sighing heavily as if you can drown out her voice.

"Christine, look at me. If he were to stop me, he would have to take on the burden himself. How many forced melds do you think he can do before he loses himself?" She puts down her glass. "You love him for who he is. But will you love him for who he would become?" 

She smiles, and it's Leslie's smile, the gentle, forlorn smile of your new friend, and you hate that it makes you feel soft and hurt. She used you—that's all. The same way she did Spock. She was never your friend.

"Christine, I know you. You, also, live in a world of gray. There are no absolutes in emergencies."

That was one of Cartwright's favorite sayings. But he got it from you: he latched on to it after you said it to him during a particularly bad mission. He always gave you credit, though. "As Commander Chapel is so fond of saying..."

"What do you want, Valeris?"

"I need to know that you will maintain your silence. Spock I am sure of, but you...?" She sighs. "You see, I lied to him. I told him the admiral would make you both pay by having _you_ killed. That they would never stop and that I had the better chance to neutralize the threat. Spock did not let me go because he was in danger, but because I told him you were. Even though you don't seem to fully realize it, you are his world now."

You have no answer for her; you think she knows you won't.

"But you and I both know that the admiral would never have hurt you. You were his world, too—other than the conspiracy. It's Spock he's after, as I said." She slides the phaser into a pocket and smiles gently. "Do you know why you're going to let me go? Why you will not tell Starfleet anything about this either?"

"Do tell."

"You know I'm the best person to keep Spock safe."

You stare at her, hating that she's right. Wishing you could tell her to go to hell—or better yet to reach for your communicator and hit the combination that sends an emergency message to security and your location.

But you don't.

"Why come here, Valeris? Why tell me all this? You want to rub it in? That I'm as tainted as Spock is?"

"No. I came for the same reason I didn't kill you in Spock's apartment. I like you. You were kind to me—a stranger—when you didn't have to be. I think, under different circumstances, we would be friends."

You laugh, a bitter sound that you can see hurts her. "Have you ever had a friend?"

"Yes. I killed him on Rura Penthe."

You close your eyes.

"And I had you. For a brief time. I realize that time is over. What will you do—let me go or turn me in?"

You pull out your comm unit and snap her photo.

Her eyebrow goes up, but not very well, not in a way that looks Vulcan. Still, you have clearly surprised her. "And what will you do with that, Christine? Send it to security? Or will you add it to your scrapbook? Will you label it Leslie or Valeris?"

"Maybe I'll give it to Spock. His one true love." You know you sound bitter and angry and you wish you could say it in a more matter-of-fact way, but you can't. You hate this woman.

And you don't.

She glances at the screen. "That's blurry. Take another one. I want you to have a better one to remember me by."

"Really?"

She nods, so you do, rolling your eyes.

She checks it. "Much better." She smiles. Leslie's smile again—does she practice it in the fucking mirror?

"This could all be one big mind-fuck. You think I don't know that. You may not be hunting anyone. There may be no one to hunt."

"You are exceedingly clever. If you look, you'll find them. I've already started."

"Hunting?"

"Well, that's the nice way to put it."

"Why should I believe you?"

She nods, as if she understands the quandary you're in. "I love Spock. I say that as easily as I do because I would have been proud to be his bondmate. Ours was a union of true esteem not logic. I hoped, once the conspiracy succeeded, once I would no longer have to postpone our bonding, that he would find it in himself to forgive me. To see that I had insured the future of the right side—for us and our children. But now. Now I know he will never forgive me. And...now he has you."

"You aren't jealous?"

"What logic is there in that?"

"That's not an answer."

"Then yes, I am. If I allow myself to be. But I also will work tirelessly to ensure his well-being. I could not kill him when I had the chance on the _Enterprise_ and I won't let him die now." She slides out of the booth. "If you let me go, then you are as tainted as Spock, and thus there is no longer any logic in staying away from him. You see, even now I look out for him—sending you back to him. Perhaps I am the more noble of we two?" She turns and walks out, as if she is not a fugitive, as if you could not send the picture you just took to security. They'd have her new face on every monitor in the quadrant so fast she'd never get off world.

Then again, she probably has a back-up plan for her back-up plan. Who will she look like next? Zarabeth? That Romulan bitch? You?

You stare down at your communicator and sigh. Finally, you send the picture to Spock with a one-line message: "If you still want to talk, I'm ready."

You bring up the picture again, and your finger hovers over the delete key, but you press "Save" instead.

 

_Him:_

You sit at a terminal in your father's study, running a facial recognition search on the picture Christine has sent you. You are using Vulcan resources because you do not want Starfleet to have any record of this.

To your annoyance, old pictures of Leila keep coming up. Valeris, no doubt chose to resemble Leila on purpose. Not just someone who was important to you when you were young but also a scientist in her own right, a well-known one in botany circles who appears repeatedly in the search results. 

It was a jab at you that also muddied the search—most logical.

Finally, you find one that is not of Leila or some other blue-eyed human with long blonde hair, and you bring it up. Security footage. It is Valeris. But why only this one?

"Is there a reason you're looking at pictures of that Kalomi woman?" Your mother sets a plate and glass down next to you. Your favorite fruit juice and a grilled cheese sandwich fixed the way you've preferred since you were a child.

"You once liked her, Mother."

"I pretended to, Spock. Because you liked her." She sits next to you. "Why are you looking at her—or is that her daughter?" She points at the date on footage you have pulled up.

"She is neither. She is a...subject matter expert I have been told to consult for my next mission. I do my homework, as you know."

"Yes, just like your father." She sighs—dramatically. "When are you going to make up with Christine? I miss her."

"We are meeting tonight to talk at our—my apartment."

"Oh." She leans in and studies you. "You don't look very happy about that."

"As I am unsure what the result of the meeting will be, I see no logic in displaying premature satisfaction."

"Are you afraid she just wants to meet to get something she left behind? Women usually don't bother coming over to do that. She'd probably just send a messenger."

You feel a bit buoyed by that idea. Christine would certainly not subject herself to time with you if she wasn't willing to forgive you.

Or perhaps you just hope that is the case.

You close the terminal. Valeris has been careful. The footage you found is the only one available to your resources. You think she wanted to be seen since the footage came from a transporter station in Philadelphia, in the departure lounge where those waiting to beam up to the orbiting shuttle stations wait their turn in relative comfort.

You doubt she has left Earth.

"Has my father ever done something you considered grievous enough to not want any further association with him?" 

She reaches over and rubs your hair, and you lean in because it reminds you of your childhood, when things were simple and it was your deepest form of safety to find her alone in the house and let her be...human with you. "Of course not or I'd be gone."

"Not even Sybok's exile?"

"That wasn't just your father. T'Pau was pushing him. And he was on such thin ice with her at the time for marrying me. Insisting on a love match when she'd wanted him to marry T'Pring's mother."

This is news to you. "Is that why he pushed my bonding with T'Pring?"

"Yes. He wanted to please the matriarch. Everyone did, Spock. It was how the family was back then." She frowns. "Did you do something—you didn't cheat on Christine, did you?"

"Of course not, Mother."

"Then what would be so unforgiveable?" She gestures to the screen. "And is your so-called expert part of this?"

You ignore her question and take a bite of the sandwich. You chew slowly and make some happy boyhood sounds both to make her smile and to get you out of having to answer.

She rolls her eyes and stands, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. "Grovel, if you have to. I want Christine back in the family. So does your father."

You do the nod-shrug that Jim taught you can mean just about anything.

Your mother smiles and says, "That's my good boy" and leaves the room, fooled just as easily as McCoy always was when Jim used it on him.

You are not willing to grovel, but you consider how far you will go to get Christine back. You close your eyes and picture her naked, head thrown back, mouth open slightly, just about to climax. It is one of your favorite mental images.

You, too, want her back. And not just for the sex—sex that far surpassed anything you ever had with Valeris.

 

_Her:_

You stand in front of the apartment you picked out and consider whether you want to palm yourself in or not. Finally, since you don't live there anymore, you ring the chime.

Spock answers it at the door instead of just calling entry. He seems to be drinking you in, and you try not to let that affect you. "You are still on the door, Christine."

"I thought maybe I was. But it didn't seem right."

He nods and moves aside. "Please."

You feel a pang as you take in your beautiful place. The view, the lovely furniture, the smells of Spock's incense and your favorite candles.

"She came to me," you say before he can start off on some other tack. "Your girl."

"She is no longer 'my girl.'"

You turn. "You got the picture I sent?"

"Yes. And I used Vulcan facial recognition software on it from a computer at the embassy."

"Smart."

"She was picked up on a camera in a waiting lounge to beam up to a shuttle station. There was nothing else. If she wanted us to think she left the planet, she failed."

"What if I could give her back to you?" You move closer, trying to read him, trying to see if he still loves her. But all you see is the way he's looking at you. The way he's reaching out for you.

You back up.

"What do you mean?"

"What if I could find her? You and I know she's Valeris, but no one else does. I won't tell if you won't. You and she can...start over."

"With her?" There is a note of horror in his voice that makes you laugh against your will. "This is not why I wished to talk to you." He moves closer. "I have been missing someone, but it is not her."

The heartfelt way he's saying it makes you stand still as he reaches for you, makes you wrap your arms around him as he pulls you to him and kisses your hair. "She said she would keep you safe from the people Cartwright sent against us, Christine. I do not believe I can do it with the same effectiveness or I would have taken on the job myself."

"And forced the meld? Over and over?" You pull back so you can see his face. "That would destroy you." Reaching up, you cup his cheek. "And she lied to you. They aren't after me. They're only after you. You're what she cares about. Not me." You move closer and whisper in his ear, "I truly think she would give anything to have you back."

"And I would give anything to have you back." He moves so your lips are on his, so you're pressed against him, so he can open his mouth to you and you respond. As he lifts you up, you wrap your legs around him and let him carry you to the bed.

But you pass a picture she found in a pile at an antiques store, then the console table that sits in the hallway that she saw on a day you were at work. She sent you a picture, and when you loved it, she went back to the store and reserved it so it would still be there when you came to look at it in person.

"Spock, she's never going to go away." You stop his hands, his questing lips, and force him to put you down. "No. Wait."

He pulls away, but holds your shoulder, his fingers slipping under your collar to your skin—so he can read you, no doubt. "Christine, I understand this is upsetting you. What she did—has done. What she will continue to do—for us, but also for herself, if we are honest. These people she is hunting may eventually discover she did not die at Rura Penthe, especially as more and more of them die."

You've thought of that. "Did Cartwright really threaten either of us or is she just trying to get what little bit of a life she can by destroying all the other players?"

"A very good question. We can agree her reasons for being here are undoubtedly not entirely altruistic. But given all that: is she our enemy? We know who she is, and yet she has not moved against us."

You think about it. "No. But she's _the_ enemy."

He nods. "It is a distinction I can find myself living with. Can you? Can you let her go?" He presses his finger down, clearly taking in the myriad emotions you are feeling and no doubt broadcasting.

"I was so lonely. For a friend, I mean. And she knew that."

"I am not sure that she did. I think she wanted to know who you were, this person who had taken her place."

"Why not just kill me and take it back?"

"Because...she feels affection for you." He shrugs in a way that would do a human teenager credit. "I am at a loss, Christine, but she is...alone. In a way no Vulcan ever is. No family, no homeworld, no mate, no place for her katra when she dies. Even her Vulcan features are gone. You were lonely, but I think she was as well. I do not think I was part of what went on between the two of you, other than in the abstract."

You think about that. How...grateful she seemed at times for your friendship. "Was your Mom mean to her?"

He sighs. "My mother did not entirely approve of her."

You study him. "She approves of me."

"She does. She wants us back together. She has told me so in no uncertain terms."

You move toward him, letting him enfold you in his arms. "And you? You want me back?"

"And not just as the woman I live with. I wish for you to be my mate."

You narrow your eyes. "Is that supposed to be a proposal?"

"It is. On Vulcan. Your response is yes or no. We value simplicity."

You smile. "I value it, too. But if I say yes, we're going ring shopping. I like garnets."

"Whatever you wish." He holds your face between his hands, his skin hot on yours. "Are you saying yes?"

"If I am, she is not going to be in the wedding party."

"There is no wedding party in a Vulcan mating ceremony. Just witnesses. Unless you wish a human wedding?"

"Oh, God, no. But I want the honeymoon. Tahiti or Paris or somewhere romantic."

He begins to unfasten your uniform. "Will it be romantic if I am there?"

"Yes, despite your best efforts." You giggle as he picks you up and kisses you, backing to the wall, moving so you can lift up his robe and slide down just...there.

He moans and you kiss him as he thrusts, as he murmurs, "Mine, mine, mine" until you come, clutching his back, probably leaving marks. "I have missed you so, Christine," he whispers, and the longing in his voice, the sweet way he is kissing your neck, is the most romantic thing in the world.

But you take in the lovely antique mirror across the room. You found it at a street fair in Sausalito with Valeris.

He pulls away enough to study you. "I cannot read what you are feeling."

"Our bedroom is full of her again."

"Then we will remedy that."

You know that means you will; he's a horrible shopper. But it's a sweet sentiment. 

 

_Him:_

You sit next to Christine on the banquette in the bar that Leonard has chosen for this impromptu reunion and memorial. _Excelsior_ is back for refits and Nyota is on Earth for training. Only Scott is missing. The memorial is as much for him as for Jim.

You see Nyota eye Christine's hand, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the ring, then meeting yours. You gaze back, keeping your expression even. It gratifies you to see that Christine is making no special effort with her, and Nyota seems unsure what to do with that.

Withholding: another key tactic of diplomacy.

Although for her sake, you wish she did not have to. You would prefer that she felt comfortable, that she could sit with her, their heads together, looking as if they were conspiring about any number of no doubt inappropriate things. But if she also wishes this, there is no outward sign.

It occurs to you that Valeris may have been closer to Christine of late than either of her friends now in this room.

Christine is also making no effort to show off the ring, and you appreciate her restraint—and that she is not trying to make this day about her despite how happy you know she is about both the engagement and the ring. You enjoyed watching her design the setting—surprised that she wanted a specific kind of garnet—rhodolite. A very dark pink, nearly red. There were diamonds flanking the main stone but only because your mother gave you some to use. Family heirlooms that Christine loved.

It pleased you to pass the stones to her; you do not think your mother would have given you them if the ring were for Valeris. Then again, Valeris would never have worn a ring so it is a moot point.

But it pleases you to see the ring on Christine's hand. To know what she has chosen and why, but to let it mean, at its most basic level, that she is yours.

You see that Chekov has finally arrived and the stories begin, some you know and others you don't. Both of Jim and Scott. You add your own; you've learned over the years how to tell a tale in a way humans find droll. You admired both men, Jim, of course, knew what he meant to you but you doubt that Scott realized the depths of your esteem. He was the finest engineer you have ever known.

You meet Leonard's eyes and you know yours are sad. You wish that the two of you were closer. But it was Jim who brought you together and this crew that keeps you coming back, not a bond between the two of you. 

The night goes on, as these things do, and alcohol is consumed in large quantities. Finally, McCoy stands and says, "Well, I for one am sick of sad things. Little lady." He points his glass at Christine, his bourbon sloshing. "You are wearing a ring."

"Women do that, Len." Her voice is teasing and he rolls his eyes.

"But it's a new one, isn't it? And on a certain finger."

"Women buy new rings. And it has to end up on one of the fingers, why not that one?" She winks at you and you want to pull her to her—this lightness is what you both have needed.

"Oh, for God's sakes, they're engaged, Leonard." Nyota's voice is far from warm and you see Rand frown as she looks from her to Christine, who is...ignoring the coldness.

In fact, Christine laughs and rolls her eyes and says, "Yes, we are. Which I guess means drinks are on us this round."

You think it does not mean that. But you admire the way she has just shut down whatever Nyota was doing. Rand comes over, telling you to move the hell over, so you get up and take her place by Sulu. You glance at Nyota and she murmurs, "Sorry."

"I am not the one to say it to."

That earns you a glare. You decide to follow Christine's lead and ignore it. You turn instead to Sulu. 

"Congratulations," he says with a grin. "Good choice."

"Indeed she is."

"Although..." He looks at you, his eyes merry and light—command has not robbed him of that. "Given your last girl..."

"There is no comparison." And for that you are very thankful.

 

_Her:_

You are using a free afternoon to wander the city, stopping at furniture stores you did not go to with Valeris. You keep thinking you see blonde hair, but when you turn, there's never anyone there.

How long will she haunt you?

You end up in a new shop, and tell the clerk you're just getting ideas so he'll stop following you. 

A moment later, you hear someone else say the same thing to the clerk. In a voice too familiar. You turn, not believing Valeris is really there—the balls on this woman. 

"Hello." She says it as if you're the kind of people who say hello in a store. As if you aren't on the verge of pulling out your communicator and turning her in—to hell with the danger from whatever remnants of the conspiracy may or may not exist. 

You try to push past her, but she grabs you, her grip like iron. You expect a threat. You expect a taunt. You expect a long-winded lecture on expediency and shades of gray. What you don't expect is her voice to tremble slightly as she asks, "Are you really replacing what we bought together?"

"Are you really sad about that? What is wrong with you? You're the bad guy."

"Villains are determined by outcomes."

"No, villains are determined by actions." You drop your voice lower. "You _kill_ people."

"And you save them. So of course my actions are anathema to you. We are opposites on the scale."

"Yes, sane and not so."

"Is it a sign of insanity to say that I enjoyed the time I spent with you?" She lets you go. "And I must point out that what we selected were lovely pieces."

And the hell of it is, she's right. You adore the way the apartment looks.

You flop into a nearby chair.

She studies your hand. "That ring is new. I believe you and Spock have returned to each other. And perhaps that signifies more?"

You nod. Is she actually happy for you? What world are you living in where your friend is a bitch about it and Spock's psycho ex is waxing rhapsodic?

"The ring is lovely. It is different than those I saw in the Academy. I like that you would pick something different."

"I just love rhodolites—that's a garnet—and with the dia—God damn it. We are not going to talk about my fucking engagement ring."

Her eyes are dancing, and you think she wants to laugh but is holding it back out of habit. "May I make a suggestion?"

"May I tell you to jump in a lake?"

She does laugh at that. "Pretend there is a Leslie. Pretend she exists and it was she who helped you with the furniture, not Valeris. She who admires your ring, not Valeris. Tell yourself that there is no Valeris."

"There will always be a Valeris." 

"But you didn't even know me then. By that logic, should there not also always be a Leslie? The woman you did know."

"The woman with a fake husband and mother-in-law." You sit up, staring at her. "They are fake, right? There is no real Martin and Lorraine, thinking they have a human living with them, not some psychotic Vulcan?"

"I am not psychotic." She looks sincerely offended. 

"That's the part you're going to focus on?"

"They are not real. Christine, please. You have made a career out of helping others: going from nurse to doctor to emergencies. The most logical way to attract your attention when we first met was to be...in need." She perches on a coffee table near the chair. "Making them up—well, part of it was Amanda and how we interacted, as I imagine you know or will come to—but part of it was simply...enjoyable. I had fun living that life, being that woman—getting to know you."

You push yourself out of the chair and head for the door.

She catches up easily, but she doesn't grab you this time. "And you had fun knowing that woman."

"I won't argue with that. But she's not real. Now, get the fuck away from me or so help me I will call security."

She must see something in your expression, something that says finally, "Don't goddamn push me."

She holds her hands up and backs away. "I will not approach you this way again."

You leave before you lose whatever is finally making you scary enough for her to pay attention to.

Later that day, a comm appears. "A friend is sorry" is the subject line and it's from one of those places that sends all-occasion electronic cards. You open it and a picture of a sad looking cat stares back at you. "Oh, come on." It's so kitschy it almost makes you laugh. You touch the cat to open the message and see a gift card is included from the store you saw Valeris in. The message reads: "I am truly sorry. If you really do not like the furniture because of its association with me, buy something new. My treat."

You cannot believe she thinks this is how a human disassociates. You forward the gift card to a charity that helps out displaced families, and send the card to trash.

Then you look around at the gorgeous rooms you've put together. You as in you and Spock but also you and _her_. You don't want to get rid of your pretty new stuff. Besides, what would it serve? Memories are like cat hair: no matter how you try, you'll never get rid of them completely. And you love these pieces, not because of how you got them but for the memories you'll make on them with the man you've loved for what seems like forever. 

To hell with her. She doesn't run your life. She never will.

Spock comes in and finds you lounging on the leather chaise. He almost frowns. "I thought you were opposed to that piece?"

You laugh at how diplomatic he is being. "I was. I'm not now. This is our furniture, Spock. This piece, even though she had a hand in it. It's ours—yours and mine. Unless you hate it?"

"I find it immensely comfortable."

"Me, too. So...so a traitorous bitch who may consider me her best friend helped me pick it out for us—nothing's perfect, right?"

He actually smiles, a small puff of air coming out. He walks over, and manages to somehow cuddle in with you on the chaise, partially holding you. "A most pragmatic attitude."

"I can be pragmatic. I can let this go."

He nuzzles you. "If you would like to replace the orange throw pillows, however, I would have no complaints."

You laugh. "Yeah, those suckers are definitely going back." Then you laugh harder, because he's urging you up so you're straddling him, and you murmur, "Oh, so you think we're going to exorcise her out of all this new stuff by having sex on it?"

"We would have done that anyway." His expression is light as he pushes your shirt up and unhooks your bra so he can play with your breasts.

You give yourself over to his amazing hands and lips and tongue and forget about anything but him and what he's doing to you. 

Logic is a wonderful thing. Who knew it would play so well with sex?

 

_Him:_

You are inside Christine, moving slowly, building the tension when she whispers, "I don't want a ceremony on Vulcan."

You know your lips are ticking up as you continue your movements but say, "Elaborate."

She thrusts up to meet you and you groan. "I want to bond now. Just you and me. No fuss, no muss. Simple, like this." She uses muscles you think were not on any anatomical models you studied and you groan even louder. "Will we be breaking any Vulcan rules if we do it now?"

You study her, then reach for the meld points. She is so open to you it is as if you are walking through an open door, and you feel that she does want this and not out of desperation or fear she will lose you.

She loves you. She does not want to wait. She knows life is short.

You know that, too. "We will break no rules." You smile, a true smile, because you want her to know that you love her for this. In truth, you did not want a ceremony on Vulcan either. 

She smiles back and you feel joy jumping between your minds. 

You begin the bonding, working more from instinct than knowledge, feeling your way, and she moans.

"Parted from me and never parted." Your voice is harsh but your grip on her is light and you can feel her becoming one with you. "Never and always touching and touched."

Pleasure builds between you. You go back to thrusting.

"Oh, fuck."

You laugh. It is not Vulcan to do so, but neither is her response. Yet it is beautifully apropos and quintessentially her to swear during a moment like this, so you say, "Indeed," and thrust harder, feeling it now from her point of view as well as your own.

She comes and the feeling rockets through you. You hear her murmuring, "I love you so much" as she comes down and you go faster, harder—this will fade but for now you are one person. And you make love as if that is so.

When you finally roll off her and pull her to you, she is panting. "Holy shit, Spock." She laughs. "Sorry, I'm sure there's some ritual response. 'Honorable husband: the mind-blowing orgasms were most appreciated.'"

You smile, and you can tell she understands this openness will also fade. And she doesn't care. You can feel that she will enjoy this while she has it and not mourn it once it is gone.

You pull her close. "Before I cannot so easily say these things, know that I love you. You are all that I want. All that I desire."

She kisses you, but then she moves to your ear and whispers, "Sweet talking me now isn't going to get you out of taking me to Tahiti later."

You pull her back to you so you can kiss her. Kissing turns to more and soon you are pushing her to her back again and climbing on top. 

When you finally pull away, you ask, "I thought it was Paris

"Maybe it'll be both. Paris and then Tahiti. Maybe a trip to an amusement park. Do you like roller coasters?" She grins and you trace her lips with your finger. "Or is life with me enough of one."

"I would ride one if you wanted me to."

"Just one?"

"I would do almost anything if you wanted me to." You know this is hyperbole and you can tell she does too. But she is still charmed that you would say it and you are still earnest in saying it.

"Will your parents be mad at us? For not waiting?"

"Not as long as my mother can have a party for us at the embassy."

"Of course." She closes her eyes. "Wow, is that my body or yours that is so sore."

"I think both."

"I guess no more sex." She laughs and lays her hands over her breasts and genitals. "Off limits, buster."

You let an eyebrow be the answer to such nonsense.

Her smile is a beautiful thing as she pulls you back onto her. "I don't want to waste this connection. While we have it, we should use it, yes?"

"I concur." 

"Even if neither of us can walk in the morning." She giggles as you kiss down her belly. "Fortunately I'm a doctor. I can heal us right up. Provided I can get to my bag."

Then she stops talking and starts moaning.

When morning comes, it is you who stumbles to the closet to get her med bag. You are profoundly grateful you had the foresight to bond with a doctor because you are both in need of attention.

She smiles as she runs the regenerator over you. "Are you sorry we didn't show some restraint last night?"

You pull her in for a kiss, her lips sweet on yours. "Not at all."

 

_Her:_

You're just getting in from a meeting when your terminal beeps in the way you've programmed it to for results from a search you've set up. You sit and call up the message queue, then have to go through the additional safeguards you've made to open the comm.

Another Starfleet officer dead. Freak accident while home alone. Lassiter, Jennifer. Commander. You call up her service record. It takes awhile but eventually you find the link—not to Cartwright this time, but to Lieutenant Hanover, who was killed when his phaser overloaded on a mission. Hanover served with Cartwright early in his career, Lassiter was Hanover's next supervisor.

You add it to the list—the mental list: you're not stupid enough to keep a real one—of the people Valeris has wiped out. She was hunting even when she was pretending to be an awkward human. Hunting—killing. Wiping out the enemy.

One less threat to Spock. One less threat to your happiness. 

Your ability to be pragmatic about this is verging on scary. You should probably be concerned.

Instead you close the message and go back to work.

Your personal communicator beeps and you frown because it should be on "do not disturb" when you're on shift. You look at the identifier screen, but it's not showing who's calling.

You answer it anyway, just as you always do. Valeris promised in the furniture store she would never again approach you that way. She didn't say she wouldn't comm.

Her face fills the screen. "You're welcome, Christine."

"Are you kidding? I'm at work. This could be tracked."

"Do you really think they can track my messages if I don't want them to?" She cocks her head. "I understand congratulations are in order. Felicitations on your bonding. How is the mother-in-law from hell?" She looks particularly pleased—no doubt on the precision of her human impression.

"She's good to me."

"You two are close? You can talk to her?"

"I can."

"So, of course you've told her all about my comms?" She leans in. "I don't call Spock, you know. Just you."

You know that's true. But you tell Spock when she comms—he'd know, now that you're bonded, if you were keeping something that big from him. And even if he wouldn't, you'd tell him. You don't want that kind of secret between you, not now that things are good again.

Good—things are amazing.

You lean in. "Hey, is that the last one you need to take care of?"

"Why? So you can send my picture to Starfleet security finally and end this lovely relationship?"

"Just exactly."

"No, that's not the last one."

"You wouldn't tell me if it was, though."

"True. When it is, I'll...slip into the wind. And it really will be goodbye."

You mock pout and pretend to dab at your eye. 

She laughs, and you find that you miss the sound. The laugh of your fake friend. You've stopped blaming Spock for missing her—you can feel through the bond that he does occasionally think of her, although his love for you at this point overshadows any regard for her that lingers. 

How can you blame him when you miss the person she became—this version of her that you got to know—to like?

"Honestly, Christine, is Amanda good to you?"

"She really is." You lean in. "But the way she cuts his sandwiches..."

"See." She smiles. "Thank you. That was generous because I know you like her."

"I love her."

"I never would have. Spock's probably better off with you." She sighs. "Well, more hunting to do. Leads and more leads." She seems to be stalling and you wonder if there really are more leads. Or if this is it.

Then she says, "Goodbye, Christine" and she reaches for the screen.

"Wait."

She looks up.

"Just so we're clear: I hate what you do. And I hate what you did—the larger issue." You don't have to talk around things—it's damning enough that you have calls from her on your comm record—but you'll be damned if you're going to give a prosecutor anything concrete if you ever do get caught. "But...thank you. If Spock is safer, thank you."

"You're safer too." Her expression is perfectly serious and her tone grave. "The last one was planning a farewell party for both of you." 

"Oh." That leaves you shaken. Although should it? You'd rather be taken out with Spock than have to live without him the way you did Roger.

She leans in. "I wish, sometimes, that we could get coffee again. Or have dinner." Then she shakes her head, as if clearing an errant thought. "Or I would—if it were my nature to wish." 

"Right." You study her, the tight way she's holding herself. What kind of life is this for her?

The life of a traitor, some nobler part of yourself answers. The life she fucking deserves.

But then she looks up and meets your eyes, and you see the woman in the boutique. "Sometimes," you say softly, "I wish we could too."

She smiles. You think she enjoys smiling; she does it so often.

You lean in. "Even though I hate you. _Leslie_."

"Right. Hate." Her smile goes broader as she cuts the connection.

You stare at the screen for a long moment, then send Spock a message marked routine that he can read when he gets out of his meetings.

All it says is: "Your friend called again."

He will know what that means. All the implications. She doesn't reach out to you after every one, but she never contacts you any other time.

Then you comm Amanda. "Hi, are we still on for coffee later?"

"Wouldn't miss it, darling. Oh, hell. Caterers are here for some conference T'Lana is holding. Why is it up to me to supervise everything?" She points and tells someone to go to the far conference room. "An ambassador's wife's job is never done. But I'll see you at three." Her smile is luminous as she cuts the connection. 

You try to imagine not loving her and fail. Even the way she cuts Spock's sandwiches charms you—that was a lie to make Valeris happy.

Jesus, are you under her spell or what—lying about Amanda just to make her smile? You hope this really is goodbye.

There is a chorus of "Oooohs," from the bay and then your deputy's at the door saying in a sing-song voice, "Someone's got an admirer." 

You look up to see him carrying a box from the chocolatier you first took Valeris to. A red balloon with "Christine" written on it is attached and a little envelope dangles from the ribbon. 

He hands you the package. "The delivery guy was trying to get in when I came back from lunch so I said I'd bring it to you. What's the occasion?"

You open the envelope and pull out the little card. In beautiful handwriting that could easily be mistaken for Spock's if one didn't know better, it says, "I miss you."

"Well?"

"I'm missed." You hold out the box and say, "Have one."

He takes a truffle and breaks into a happy smile as he bites in. "Oh, man, this is good. Who knew Vulcans were so sentimental?"

You smile in a way you think could mean anything. "Yeah. Who knew?"

 

FIN


End file.
